


Challenge Five: Canon Era

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Summer Pornathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 100,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge Five: Canon Era for the 2013 Summer Pornathon.</p><p>The voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/93970.html">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing and warnings included in chapters 1-4.
> 
> Chapters 5-8 are repeats of chapters 1-4 without pairing and warning information.

**1.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

"Oh." Leon averted his eyes, but the damage was done. He saw the Prince naked, hovering over his new manservant. The boy was soaked through with water, and on his knees. "Sorry for interrupting but several delegations have reach our borders for the tournament. They should arrive by mid-day."

"Thank you Leon. I'll be along as soon as I've finished my bath." Arthur growled.  
_________

Percival looked behind him at the very odd sight, and then over to Bors. "His servant's coming with us on the hunt?"

" ' _Mer_ lin', as the Prince says it, can not be trusted on his own and must come along for all expeditions now." Bors winked.  
_________

Geoffrey had wanted to see if Gaius would run out for a nip at the inn, something to take his mind off of his supposedly poisoned apprentice, but as he was about to knock, he heard the tell tale signs of something much more adventurous. Apparently the boy wasn't quite so ill if he could moan out Arthur's name like that.  
_________

"He cuts fresh flowers for Arthur, and wears a pretty blue dress for Arthur. Merlin sneaks into Arthur's chambers at every hour of every day." The serving girl whispered to the handmaid. "I even heard he hid under the prince's bed until the rest of the servants were asleep." 

"Any wonder Arthur chases him 'round Camelot like they were still first year lovers." The handmaid giggled back.  
_________

"Bring that to Merlin." As head cook, she could at least do this much for them. "He waited all night outside the Prince's chambers."

"Shouldn't we refer to Arthur as King now?" The handmaid questioned while picking up the tray.  
_________

Gwaine wasn't shocked. Merlin could barely keep his hands off of the King, but to make up a silly excuse during an important meeting?

"If you would just hold still." Merlin tackled a now half nude Arthur to the floor, groping at him the entire way down.  
_________

"Poetry?"  
_________

Gwen woke again to the sound of Arthur calling out for Merlin. She nudged her husband awake. "Go to him."  
_________

"I have magic." Merlin leaned forward after casting the spell. There was gold in his eyes, gold like all the times Arthur had denied seeing it.

Arthur was good at denial. He had heard the rumors about him and Merlin. They started almost immediately after Merlin became his servant. Arthur liked them. Liked the idea of his knights knowing Merlin belonged to him. Liked other servants knowing without it ever being said that Merlin was his to love. "I love you." 

"I tell you I have magic and you tell me that you love me?" Merlin smiled down at him. "I obviously should have told you sooner."

"Yes, you should have, and I should have told you 'I love you' before now." Arthur wheezed a little in the excitement of the moment.

"It's ok. We still have years for you to say it again." Merlin shed a tear that Arthur wiped away.

The kisses that followed weren't the sultry escapades of rumor, but the true statements of eternal love, and when Arthur's hands drifted lower to touch Merlin in a way that he had never allowed himself to dream about, Arthur found himself wishing they could all understand what this man has meant to him and what this moment means now.

"You should save your strength." Merlin tilted his hips into the touch anyway, so gentle, barely hovering over Arthur.

" _Mer_ lin, Shut up." Arthur pulled him closer, kissing the taught line of muscle at his neck. "Let me love you."

"Still spoiled enough to demand your way I see." Merlin brokenly teased. The hints of desperation in his voice tinged it all with a sense of finality that Arthur didn't want. Merlin's eyes flashed gold once more and Arthur's length was exposed along side that of his love's.

"We could have been having amazing magical sex for years." Arthur chastised, before pulling both their cocks together in his hand.

"According to the rest of Camelot, we have been." Merlin answered back through a moan.

It hurt to breath. It hurt to move. But in that moment Arthur held on to a bitter sweet laugh with his friend, and came beautifully hard with his lover.

* * *

**2.**  
 **Pairing(s):** George/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

If anyone were to ask, George would tell them he had an unremarkable childhood. “Quite boring, sir and/or madam,” he would say.

Every morning, his mother would give him a crust of bread which he chewed methodically, while she rested in the now empty bed. Then he would pick up anything that was out of place and put it back where it belonged, and take their dirty cloth to clean the room. (He could not do much to help his mother, but he did it with dedication and precision, and sometimes, just sometimes, his mother would smile at him and call him her good boy. And George would experience what some call happiness. ) 

If he had woken during the night, due to drunken shouts below or the sounds of his mother plying her trade, he would not mention it. She worked hard, after all. 

If asked, George would tell anyone that a gentleman friend had taught him how to read, and that his mother taught him everything else he knew. 

But then, no one ever seemed to ask, anyway.

*

George worked hard and made his mother proud. She smiled at him the day they moved into their own tiny house. He breathed in and stood a little taller.

*

The day came he was called upon to serve the king; he made sure his collar sat just right, and showed him what exemplary service was like.

*

‘So you got to serve Arthur, then? If he threw something at your head, don’t worry, he does that to me all the time.’

George tried not to frown as Merlin polished the hauberk all wrong. Not everyone could get it right even after the fourth try, after all.

‘It was only a napkin, and I should have anticipated his highness would not be hungry,’ he offered.

Chatting with the other servants was one of the few things George perhaps didn’t excel at. He didn’t have many friends. Still, he always gave it his best try. 

‘Right,’ Merlin said, and silence returned, so George showed him how to do it again. 

‘You’re really good at this, aren’t you?’ Merlin grinned at him. 

George puffed out his chest a little. ‘I try,’ he said modestly. 

Half an hour later, it was clear that Merlin wasn’t good at this, or anything else as it turned out. George explained it all again, patiently, and felt rather good about himself. Something about Merlin’s loose smiles reminded him of his mother, on her best days. She always needed his help, too. 

He shouldn’t; he was aware that it would be highly inappropriate. But Merlin was chattering away and telling him all manner of outrageous things, and George didn’t have many friends. He mentally flipped a coin, and when Merlin looked up at him, George made a decision. 

He taught Merlin his own personal trick for how to polish a sword efficiently.

‘It’s really not that different,’ he found himself saying.

‘From when you…?’ Merlin said. ‘Huh.’

*

It turned out Merlin did that wrong, too. 

So George showed him. For some reason, instead of grasping himself, Merlin reached out his hand curiously and touched him. His fingers felt hot around George’s cock; he was clumsy, like in everything else he did. Instead of clean, efficient strokes, Merlin got the wetness at the tip smeared all over his fingers, petted him and toyed with him distractedly. 

George should set him straight, but he somehow forgot to. Nobody had ever touched him before, and when Merlin asked him, still grinning, ‘How am I doing?’ all he could do was choke out ‘There’s… some improvement.’

‘I’m good at this,’ Merlin told him, like it was a secret, and then he bent over and used his tongue.

‘You really shouldn’t use your tongue for sword cleaning,’ George said, and when Merlin laughed, his breath puffed over George’s cock and sent another shiver through him. 

*

‘You know,’ George said later, sated and a little too relaxed, ‘The king doesn’t have much of a sense of humour, does he? I complimented him on his brass balls, and he didn’t even seem to understand.’

Merlin laughed and laughed. ‘You know, I think I like you after all.’

George never did get to regret his decision.

*

When Merlin asked him to be Mordred’s manservant, George of course accepted. 

And when the time came for decisive action, he didn’t hesitate, even if did not quite fall within his job description. He was the best, after all. 

At being a servant, and at being a friend, too.

* * *

**3.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

“I know your secret.”

Merlin felt his throat constrict and the room came in and out of focus. His knees almost buckled at Arthur’s words. This couldn’t be real. He tried to form words but couldn’t. 

As Arthur stalked towards him, Merlin found his voice. “What are you talking about?” If Arthur knew about his magic, he had no idea how Arthur would react.

“I know you lied to me, Merlin. Gaius told me everything.” Arthur explained.

Merlin blinked slowly. “Gaius?” Gaius would never betray his secret. 

“I talked to him a few days ago. I knew you were upset about something and I was worried...” Arthur faltered for a moment as he looked down. Merlin almost thought he looked embarrassed. “Your work was becoming sloppy, and considering how wretched you are normally that’s frightening. So I asked him what was wrong with you. It took a lot of prodding but he finally told me. You met some girl and you were going to run away together but then she left you behind.”

Merlin was finally able to breathe again. This was about Freya. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. “Yes.”

“How could you do that, Merlin? You were just going to leave without saying anything?” 

Arthur’s glare faded and even though Merlin could see he tried to hide out, Arthur looked hurt. For some reason this made Merlin’s anger flare up.

“Why does it even matter to you? I’m not irreplaceable. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding someone else’s back to step on.” Merlin said with a bitterness that he hadn’t been prepared for. 

“After everything I’ve done for you, I would think you would at least do me the courtesy of saying a proper goodbye.”

Merlin could feel the steam that came out of his ears. “After everything _you’ve_ done for me?” He threw back his head and roared with laughter. 

“Would you like to share what you find so amusing?”

Merlin shook his head slowly. He didn’t want to fight with Arthur anymore. “If you want to know the real reason I wanted to leave it’s because... for the first time I found someone who really understood me and didn’t make me feel worthless. She needed me and I could just be myself with her. And even though she’s gone-” He choked back tears. “I don’t think I should settle for less.”

Arthur gaped at him and his eyes searched Merlin’s face but he didn’t seem to be able to say anything. It didn’t matter he wouldn’t be able to tell Merlin what he wanted to hear anyway. 

Merlin just smiled grimly at Arthur before he turned to leave. He had barely got the door open before it was slammed shut. 

Merlin could feel Arthur’s warmth as he stood behind him. Arthur panted and Merlin could his hot breath against his neck and Merlin shivered. But he couldn’t turn to face Arthur. Merlin finally turned around and when he looked in Arthur’s eyes he almost gasped at the sight of tears in Arthur’s eyes. 

“You’re not worthless, Merlin. I...Merlin...”

The next thing Merlin knew Arthur’s lips were against his and his back was pressed against the door as Arthur kissed him with such passion it stole Merlin’s breath.

Merlin wanted to stay mad at Arthur, he wanted to push him away. He tried to resist for a moment, but he couldn’t hold back a needy moan when Arthur’s lips parted against his briefly. 

He could feel Arthur’s gentle tongue against the roof of his mouth and his cock began to stir. Arthur could feel it too and he ground his hips against Merlin’s. Merlin fisted his hands in Arthur’s hair as he felt the outline of Arthur’s hand length through his trouser. 

Merlin fumbled with the laces to Arthur’s trousers. Arthur batted his hand away and practically tore them off. Merlin let out a breathy gasp when Arthur turned him around and pressed his face up against the door.

Arthur made quick work of Merlin’s pants. Merlin’s fingers scrambled for purchase against the door when he felt two wet fingers breach him. 

“I’m ready. Please, just do it.”

Merlin felt Arthur thrust inside and it was the most delicious pain he had ever experienced. The pain quickly melted away and Merlin just felt at peace and just felt utter joy.

“Oh, God Merlin. I’m so sorry. I need you.” Arthur panted against his ear.

Merlin almost felt embarrassed at how quickly he came after he heard those words.

Arthur pumped into him with three more hard thrusts before he spilled inside of him.

Arthur fell against Merlin’s back and panted into his ear. Merlin felt dizzy and as if he could sleep for a week, but he also  
never wanted Arthur to stop touching him. He knew finally that Arthur was truly his home and he would never leave him.

* * *

**4.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Lancelot/Percival  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 _How Percival ended up accompanying Lancelot to Camelot - the untold story_

Lancelot guided his nervous horse through the village, once a welcoming oasis, each step giving rise to confusion as he surveyed the smoldering ruins. Only a fortnight before all had been well. Now all sounds and signs of life had been silenced. No animals, not even a chicken strutting across the road, no children screaming and playing, no villagers going about their daily work, no drunks spilled across the pub’s threshold; the village was home only to its ghosts.

Every fiber of his being urged him to leave this place and its lingering aura of horror. And he would’ve, if not for the clang of an axe and the crash of a tree as it fell. Someone was still here, and they’d best have an explanation for this.

Lancelot rode through the last empty street and to the road beyond. It was beside this road that he saw something that brought him to a halt; row after row of graves, each staked with a fresh new wooden cross. The man responsible paused, chest bare and axe in hand, and stared at Lance for a moment. Then he returned to his task, the sun beating down on his reddened back, sweat glimmering across overtaxed muscles as he forced a new cross into the ground, driving it home with the last swing of his axe. 

Lance had never seen a more beautiful, nor tragic sight in his life. He watched and waited, a silent witness. 

Finished at last the man fell to his knees and bent his head for a long moment, then mounted his horse and urged his horse into a gallop. Lance found himself following, curiosity and a fire deep in his groin urging him on. 

He caught up with the man at the river just in time to see him slide off his horse. Lance pulled to a stop and dismounted, but something held him back. The man pulled off his boots and breeches then stood at the river’s edge, water lapping at his bare toes. Lance gulped, torn between looking away and absorbing every detail he could, every flex of muscle, the play of the sun’s last rays across the broad shoulders, the taut curve of the man’s arse. Lance’s cock ached with shocking force but he was frozen to the spot, hesitant to disturb the man’s right to his despair. Then the man spread his arms out and fell into the water. He didn’t come back up.

* * * 

“Percival,” the man said later as he sat hunched under Lance’s spare blanket in front of the makeshift fire. He was still naked, as was Lance. He hadn’t stopped to pull off his clothes when, after a moment’s incredulous hesitation, Lance had realized the man’s intent and put a stop to it. 

“What happened to your village, Percival?”

Percival stared off into the night sky and said, “Death.” Then he turned and held Lance’s gaze, the flicker of the campfire dancing across his tormented face. “Cenred.” 

He knew the name, and the reputation. Anger suffused him. “I wish I’d been there sooner. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Percival stood, and let the blanket fall to the ground. Firelight bathed his naked body, his powerful thighs cradling his heavy erect cock. “There is.”

Once again Percival fell to his knees, his plea silent. Dumbfounded for only a moment Lance went to him, accepting Percival’s desperate mouth on his cock. Lance fucked Percival’s mouth, making him gag, his fingers digging into Percival’s shoulders until he came. He too fell to his knees then and turned around, spreading his legs and beckoning Percival enter him. Percival didn’t hesitate, tearing Lance apart with pleasure and pain both as he slid home. All of Percival’s pain and sorrow pounded Lance into the dirt but he took it, accepting this was what Percival needed, and he was more than willing to give. 

* * *

Every morning as Camelot grew closer he expected Percival to be gone but he remained, his pain a silent burden assuaged only at night in Lance’s arms. Finally he asked where Lance was going.

“Camelot.” 

“To be a knight?”

“To help a friend. Come with me.”

Percival said nothing for a long moment, his gaze on the road ahead. Then he nodded and for the first time since they’d met, Percival smiled.

* * *

**5.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, Morgana/Morgause, others implied  
 **Warning(s):** Non-monogamy, implied dubcon, incest

Morgana dreams the future in stunning clarity. The tonic Gaius gives her intensifies her vision, makes nebulous images stark. Her dreams are full of violence, _madness_ , because Morgana would _never_ …. She watches herself torture Gwen, sees terror fade to madness in Gwen’s eyes, and Morgana screams herself awake.

“My lady,” Gwen says, her voice cracked with weariness. She wraps her arms around Morgana, her warm scent soothing. “It was only a dream,” Gwen coos as they rock, and Morgana needs to believe it. She pulls Gwen down, pushes her onto her back, curls her hand around Gwen’s neck.

“I will never hurt you,” she says, and Gwen merely nods. Morgana wants her to understand, so she lifts Gwen’s skirt and kisses up her leg. “I want you to be mine,” Morgana says, the feeling overwhelming as she runs her nose between Gwen’s thighs.

+++

Morgana dreams. Arthur is wounded, and Merlin cares for him with profound love, his grief unbearable to behold. Morgana is weeping when she awakens, and Gwen shushes her with kisses, a steadying hand on Morgana’s belly—the same belly she later sees Merlin slide a blade into. In the daytime, Merlin smiles and stammers and blushes at her, carefree.

Morgana doesn’t understand what could make her hurt any of them until Morgause comes to her, brings a hand to Morgana’s cheek, and Morgana feels _known_. They kiss in the forest and on a rickety boat and in stone temples. She lets Morgause slide fingers inside her, the way Arthur did clumsily when they were young and Morgana was boy-shaped, the way Gwen does still, careful and loving. Morgause’s touches are full of power, full of _magic_ , and it’s intoxicating to be near her.

+++

When everyone falls asleep around her, Morgana realises that Morgause has done something to her. Arthur is fading and Merlin is just a boy in love and out of options. When he offers her water, Morgana drinks. She drinks the poison and lets Merlin hold her.

“I forgive you,” she chokes out. Because she understands.

+++

Morgause takes Morgana’s dreams away, and she feels blinded. Morgause makes her feel like she can never go home, like the magic blossoming in her will always make her Camelot’s enemy. She learns everything she can about magic, because if she can’t have warmth, at least she can have power. She forgets her love for Arthur, and for Merlin, the boy who will someday kill her. She tucks Gwen away somewhere safe, preserving the last bit of light in her life as long as she can.

+++

“Do you love me?” Morgause asks, grinding her cunt against Morgana’s.

“I love you.”

Morgause’s smile is wicked, and Morgana can’t help imagining the sweet curve of Gwen’s mouth, the open adoration in her eyes. Morgause sends waves of pleasure across Morgana’s skin, makes her come.

“Can anyone else do this for you?”

Morgana thinks of Gwen’s bitten lip, her work-rough fingers sliding into Morgana’s body like she’s something sacred, and yes, Gwen could do this to her with just the press of her breasts against Morgana as they kissed like lovers.

“You fuck like a warrior,” Morgana says, and Morgause’s grin shows that she takes it as a compliment. That she doesn’t know Morgana at all.

Morgause falls asleep first, and Morgana removes the enchanted bracelet, wanting to see Gwen’s face again. She dreams the future of Camelot, when Arthur is dead and Merlin is gone. She dreams of Gwen, sees into her broken heart, watches her lift the ban on magic, and Morgana wakes with pride and gratitude swelling inside her. She curls around the body beside her, and it isn’t Gwen.

+++

When Morgana finally returns to Camelot, Arthur has started courting Gwen with pretty words and gestures. But Gwen is hard with him, prickly in her wariness. Morgana smiles because only she knows the softness of Gwen’s heart when she’s in love, the trembling clutch of her fingers, the smell of her arousal as they ride one another, slick across Morgana’s belly. She finds Gwen later, presses her down into the bed, says, “Marry him. Become my queen.” Gwen nods and kneads Morgana’s arse, pulls her up and uses her mouth to soothe away the aches of Morgana’s absence until only Gwen remains, bright and beautiful, worthy.

“I missed you,” Gwen says later, her eyes wet and hands restless on Morgana’s face, her hair.

Morgana believes her—believes that Gwen will be the one to save them all.

* * *

**6.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Rimming

"Draw me a bath," Arthur ordered Merlin as he walked off the training field, stripping off his gloves and thrusting them into Merlin's chest. "And help me with this mail."

Arthur didn't miss the roll of Merlin's eyes as he stripped the armor off of Arthur's body and shoved it at a squire.

"I'll let the kitchens know," Merlin said, hurrying off as Arthur went to check on his father. 

There was no change in Uther, as usual, and Merlin was pouring in the last steaming bucket just as Arthur strode through the door to his chambers, pulling off his sweat streaked tunic and kicking at his mud-caked boots. 

"Clean those up," he ordered as he stepped out of his breeches on the way to the tub, but it was halfhearted, his weary body already anticipating the warmth of the bath.

Arthur sank into it with a grateful moan, letting the water soothe his aching muscles as Merlin puttered around the room, trying to look busy.

"Stop messing about and come wash my hair," Arthur commanded lazily. Merlin snorted, but came over to massage suds over Arthur's scalp as he sank deeper in the bath.

"Good training today?" Merlin asked softly and Arthur only hummed, leaning back into Merlin's soothing fingers.

Arthur was pliantly relaxed after rinsing and finally climbing out. He dried himself briskly and then turned critically to Merlin.

"When's the last time you bathed?"

Merlin held his hands up in front of him. "Last week."

Arthur pursed his lips, but discarded the towel and strode over to the bed, sprawling across the coverlet naked, his cock heavy between his thighs. "Attend me."

Arthur's eyes were closed, but he knew that the soft rustling sounds were Merlin undressing.

Merlin snorted very close to him, and then his hands were on Arthur's thighs as he settled between them. 

"Just so you know," Merlin said quietly, and Arthur looked at him, naked and stretched out between his legs. "I don't do this because you order me to, but because I enjoy the taste of your cock on my tongue." He leaned forward to lick at the head of Arthur's cock, once, twice, and then looked up to grin impishly at Arthur's moans. 

He was teasing, as always, and Arthur glared at him, his thighs falling open wider. "Come here," he demanded, and hauled Merlin up for a filthy kiss, thrusting his tongue into Merlin's mouth and fucking him with it before pushing him down again.

"Well?"

Merlin chuckled against his groin and laid a sloppy wet kiss on Arthur's shaft, sucking a little as he made his way downwards. 

Merlin's mouth was warm and wet and Arthur moaned, his heels sinking deeper into the bed. Merlin hummed against his balls, using one hand to jack him loosely and the other to hold down Arthur's straining hips.

"Not today, love," Arthur heard him whisper and he whimpered, tossing his head back against the pillows. After a long day of working the men he _needed_ it.

"Shh," Merlin soothed him, his fingers tracing circles against Arthur's hip. "A little wider, please, that's it."

Arthur's thighs began to ache with the stretch, but he didn't care, because Merlin was licking down past his balls and then circling his hole with his tongue, lapping at the entrance and sucking at the edge. Arthur groaned deeply at the sensation, yelping and thrusting his hand into Merlin's hair as Merlin breached him, the other hand scrabbling and clutching at the bedsheets. He pressed down with his hips, trying to get more as Merlin fucked him with his tongue. 

Arthur nearly sobbed when Merlin pulled back to breathe, hips instinctively humping at the air, before Merlin entered him again, this time with a finger. Merlin licked at him slower, his tongue a smooth glide as his finger reached, searching, before massaging at the spot that made Arthur see stars, pleasure rolling over him, choking him. Not being able to stand it, he reached for his cock, jerking it fast and ruthless, the flesh hot and hard beneath his fingers. The desire came to a point, of tongue and fingers and friction, and Arthur gave a strangled yell as he tipped over the edge, his body tensing inwards, thighs taut around Merlin's shoulders.

Shuddery and loose, Arthur dropped backwards onto the pillows and Merlin crawled up to kiss him, sweetly, their tongues tangling.

"Clean me up," Arthur mumbled between kisses and Merlin grinned, leaning down to lick up the come spattered over Arthur's fingers and stomach.

* * *

**7.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** -

Arthur sank deeper into the water, hot but not scalding, just the way he liked it and Merlin somehow managed these days. With his right hand he tugged his cock leisurely, enjoying the pleasure rising slowly. Though he enjoyed ordering Merlin to scrub his back to watch him squirm and swallow protests, it was also nice to have these moments to himself, to release the tension of the day. It was the first delegation of Mercia since he'd become king and he'd been running himself ragged. He couldn't risk any faux pas and may have reminded Merlin of this on a daily basis. Remembering Merlin's flushed face and open mouth as he dragged in the last barrel of water for Arthur's bath; Arthur increased the speed of his strokes. Perhaps he should give Merlin a day off when this business with Mercia was over...

At that very moment, the door to his chambers flew open and the manservant in question ran into the room. 

"Merlin!" Arthur removed his hand from his cock with a splash.

Looking flustered and alarmed, Merlin marched up to him.

"Did you tell Ronald he could have me?" Merlin asked brusquely. 

"Prince Ronald?" Arthur asked, trying to deduce whether Merlin or Camelot were in any acute danger. 

"Yes!" Merlin said, "I overheard him bragging to his friends about... you _lending_ me to him."

Arthur was confused, "Yes, well, I told you to look after him. It wouldn't do the negotiations any good if he were dissatisfied in Camelot."

"So it's true then," Merlin said, sounding bitter and upset, "I won't do it, you know," Merlin continued, and Arthur was shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes. "I'm not a whore."

Looking back, Arthur was surprised how long it took to put the pieces together, especially as Merlin was such a recurring sexual fantasy. He recalled Prince Ronald's remarks about Merlin, when Arthur agreed the man could 'borrow' his manservant for a while. Ronald had mentioned Merlin's 'hidden talents' and Arthur had laughed, saying he was certain Merlin had no hidden talents except maybe the talent for getting into trouble. But as it was sinking into him, what Ronald had _really_ meant, his cock twitched, interested after having been neglected since Merlin's interruption.

"You're getting off on this!" Merlin said accusingly, eyes unashamedly dropping to Arthur's nether regions. 

Arthur quickly covered himself with his hand but when he saw Merlin's furious face, he quickly held them up again in a placating gesture. "Merlin, you know I would never treat you like that," Arthur started coaxingly, "I was only talking about laundry and stuff, not _that_... I never would have... That wouldn't even cross my mind!" Arthur swallowed hard, thinking about those times he's wanted to pull Merlin closer when he was undressing him, or pull him into bed after the candles were dimmed.

"Because I'm repulsive and a peasant?"

"You're beautiful and if Ronald ever touches you, I will have him flogged and thrown out of the kingdom." Arthur said with vehemence, only realizing belatedly how that may have sounded.

Merlin blushed a deep red, looking at Arthur with curiosity rather than reproach.

Arthur looked away, thinking about how to conceal the truth. "We're not exactly on equal footing, I would be abusing my power to get you to... you know." It was his turn to blush.

"You pompous arse," Merlin responded, "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much."

In one uncharacteristically graceful move, Merlin was kneeling by the tub, hand hovering above the water "So you _have_ been thinking about me," Merlin reached for Arthur's cock through the water, "checking me out when I turn my back."

Merlin's hand on his cock felt incredible and all the things that _should > be said or discussed evaporated. _

"Here I listened to Ronald," Merlin continued, stroking him quick and hard, "telling his friends that you've grown tired of me, that you'd gotten bored of taking my impetuous mouth and tight hole, when in fact, we haven't even scratched the surface."

Arthur groaned loudly, head falling backwards as he closed his eyes against those tantalizing mental images. Vision hazy, he looked back up at Merlin who was smirking in victory as his cock pulsed and pleasure wrecked his body. 

"But you only allowed yourself to dream about me," Merlin said softly in the aftermath, "when all you needed to do was ask," and with that, Arthur greedily accepted Merlin's kiss.

* * *

**8.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):**

“I’m going to push in now.”  
“Yes, do it, please.”  
“Was that an actual ‘please?’”  
“ _Mer_ lin!”  
“Alright, let me just—ah, there we go.”  
“Oh gods, that’s—“  
“Yeah. Yeah, Arthur, you’re so tight.”  
“Is that all, then?”  
“Eheheh, oh no, my lord, there’s much more where that came from…”  
“Oh my—fuck—Merlin!”  
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”  
“…”  
“Arthur?”  
“…”  
“ARTHUR!”  
“Give me a fucking minute, Merlin, I already told you I’ve never done this.”  
“Are you—I was only asking if it—Fine, yes, by all means take all the time in world, Your Majesty.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Alright, I think…can you move now?”  
“Are you sure Your Royal Pratliness don’t need another few seconds?”  
“ _Mer_ li—oh fuck, yes, _yes, Merlin_ , just like that, oh _gods_.”  
“Oh, does the king like that? Does the king maybe want a bit more of that?”  
“Yes, _please_.”  
“Well, since you asked so nicely...”  
“Ah, ah, how are you even—“  
“Bend over a bit more. There we go.”  
“Oh!”  
“Yeah, th-there it is.”  
“What _was_ that? How did—oh, oh yes, _yes_ —“  
“Let’s just say some of Gaius’s anatomy books have a few detailed diagrams. Very detailed.”  
“Is that…is that what you’re always going on about when I—“  
“Yes.”  
“I always wondered—“  
“Now you know.”  
“Can you…again?”  
“Mmm. Maybe ask one more time, a little more politely?”  
“Merlin, I will not—yes, please, _please_ , do that again.”  
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, sire?”  
“Oh gods, Merlin, I hate you so much right now.”  
“Are you quite sure?”  
“M-Merlin!”  
“Hmm. Yes, I think your cock says otherwise. And I must say, your arse seems to be clenching me rather eagerly. Not to mention your hips coming back to meet me like a common whore.”  
“Merlin, I swear, I will put you in the stocks and give the children potatoes again.”  
“I knew that was you!”  
“Alright, alright, I apologise, but come on, Merlin, don’t stop.”  
“Pig-headed, arrogant, ass.”  
“What was that?”  
“Nothing.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“!!!”  
“That wasn’t a very kingly noise, was it?”  
“Yes, well, it’s—oh, _oh_ —not a very kingly position, is it?”  
“And yet it suits you so well.”  
“I’m fairly certain that’s treason, Merlin.”  
“Oh? What are you going to do, make me stop?”  
“Now that _would_ be treason. Don’t you dare stop, Merlin.”  
“I—fuck—wouldn’t dream of it.”  
“I would like to try something different, though.”  
“What’s that?”  
“Do you remember the night of your birthday?”  
“Oh. Oh yes, that was…rather amazing. I’d have to pull out for that, though.”  
“There’s no way to reposition without—“  
“’Fraid not.”  
“Ugh. If you must.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Alright, now just—let me hold it—now just slide right—yeah, there you go. Oh, look at you, you beautiful creature.”  
“Merlin!”  
“Ahaha, you’re blushing! Do you like when I call you beautiful?”  
“…”  
“You do, don’t you?”  
“This never leaves my chambers.”  
“Of course not, sire. Now just sort of…like you’re riding a horse at a gallop and—oh fuck, _yes_ , perfect.”  
“It’s so…so…”  
“Deep. Yeah.”  
“Oh gods, _Merlin_.”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“No, don’t…touch my cock and I’m done, Merlin. I want…want this to—“  
“Yeah, yeah, alright, I—“  
“Where’s the—how did you—“  
“Find it yourself.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Want some help?”  
“Mmm.”  
“Lean forward a bit. Put your hands just here by my head. Now just shift your weight a bit…no, no, twist your hips a little—“  
“!!!”  
“That’s it, love, now you’ve got it.”  
“Oh gods that feels so fucking good.”  
“Mmm, yeah it must. Your eyes just rolled back in your head.”  
“How can you ever…is this what I do to you every time?”  
“Y-Yes.”  
“I don’t think I ever want to stop.”  
“Ahaha, we only have so much oil, Arthur. And I’ve got to come sometime.”  
“Are you…just as close as I am, then?”  
“Y-Yes.”  
“Alright, I guess…yeah, just…touch me.”  
“…”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“…”  
“…”  
“That was incredible, Merlin.”  
“You were beautiful, Arthur.”  
~~~  
“MERLIN!”  
“What is it, my lord?”  
“Find me that dollophead. I have a council session to attend to. Does he expect me to dress myself?”  
“Fetch Merlin from his chambers.”  
“He’s not there.”  
“Check the armoury.”  
“I’ve done that. No sign of him.”  
“Where else could he be?”  
“You tell me!”  
“When did you last see him, my lord?”  
“Last night!”

* * *

**9.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Onesided Arthur/Merlin, Thoughts of Mordred/Merlin. Arthur/Gwen (married)  
 **Warning(s):** Thoughts of infidelity.  
 **A/N** takes place in 5.08 Hollow Queen

Arthur never knew why he didn’t notice it clearly before. All the signs were there. Merlin’s disappearing without a good excuse. They way he kept himself to his tight circle of friends. Or the the fact he’d never boast about his nights with wine and women, like his friends, Arthur’s knights would do. But, it wasn’t until Guinevere gave away Merlin’s secret, that he was off seeing a girl, that Arthur realized how _wrong_ that statement sounded.

First, Arthur, theorized that it was because he never _saw_ Merlin with a woman. Sure when he first came to Camelot, Arthur thought he had a crush on Gwen and Morgana. Arthur even teased him about it. But, after Leon reported the scene, he saw, when he entered the balcony, how Merlin was grieving over the body of a young man, that it clicked.

Arthur, came to the realization that Merlin preferred male lovers. 

If his father was still king, Merlin would have been banished or put to death, depending on how his father found the information. Uther had little tolerance for anything he deemed freakish or immoral. But, Arthur knew Merlin for years. He was a loyal friend. 

A friend that only hours before was holding the dead body of his lover, and was now serving dinner. 

Wishing that Merlin would confide in him, Arthur tried to get him to talk, first he expressed how much he owed the young man for saving his life, hoping that Merlin would tell him something. But all Merlin did was tell Arthur _he_ was going to bury the body. Not see that task was done by another. 

So then Arthur tried to goad it out of him, “Oh so you can visit that girl again?” 

“What?”

“A girl.” Arthur dragged out the R’s in a singsong way.

“Don’t have one,” Merlin said in a lowered voice standing at the sideboard, but Arthur still heard him.

His comment about Guinevere, being the one to tell Arthur, seem to struck a nerve in Merlin. The look he gave Gwen, was filled with hurt and anger. Of course, they had been friends years before Gwen became the Queen. He had told her in confidence, and she had told Arthur as much earlier that day. 

“Well, you can tell me all about her, and why you are limping,” Arthur tried to get Merlin’s attention, baiting him once again. However, this backfired, when Merlin told him there was nothing to tell and excused himself from their dinner.

___________________________________________________

Merlin’s mood didn’t brighten over the next few weeks. He stayed watchful, quiet and distant, and more so around Gwen. Arthur never thought he’ll be saddened over a man _not_ paying attention to his wife, but at one time they had been friends.

Arthur noticed other things too. Like Mordred seemed to be courting Merlin. Arthur watched Mordred follow Merlin, sometimes pulling him into a hallway or a alcove to whisper his affections. At first he thought, he would have to step in and talk to Mordred, but Merlin always seemed to handle it fine. Plus, how would he go about it? Merlin may be his manservant, but was also his friend, so be kind?

But there was another problem that surfaced with the Merlin discovery. Arthur found his mind would drift to unsavory thoughts about Merlin. 

It started when Arthur was thinking, how did Merlin get that limp? Had he received it in the assassination attempt, he would have told Gaius. What if he got it from his lover? Men were stronger than women, so maybe they were less gentle in bed, with each other?

Arthur’s life was sheltered, when it came to how same sex lovers worked, be he _had_ seen many male bodies during training, and could make some educated guesses on _how_ it was done. 

And those guesses, metamorphosed into dreams when Mordred entered the picture. Arthur would see Mordred holding Merlin down, in his dreamscape. Arms pinned above his head, sweat soaked skin moving in that age old pattern. Mordred call out Merlin’s name, as Merlin grunted, eyes clenched. 

Arthur would awaken, glad he never saw Merlin’s eyes, or hear him called out another man’s name.

Because Arthur wanted it to his name. He wanted to be the one to touch Merlin in an intimate way. 

And the fact he was having these thoughts while his wife slumbered next to him, did nothing to stop them.

* * *

**10.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Hands (Merlin/imaginary!Arthur)  
 **Warning(s):** Masterbation (although, that’s not really a _warning_ )

Merlin made his weary way to the Prince’s chambers, slowly opening the door and stepping inside. Closing it behind him, he sighed in frustration as he took in the mess before him. Tunics were strewn everywhere, there are a pair of trousers -- ripped, of course, _Damn it, Arthur!_ \-- hanging from the back of a chair at the table. Grumbling under his breath about idiot pratfaces who can’t clean up after themselves, he grabbed the basket beside the wardrobe and started trying to bring order to the chaos. 

Digging a belt out of the hearth -- how did that even _get_ there in the first place?! -- Merlin placed the basket of laundry outside the door and made his way to the bedchamber. It was a good time to change the linens, seeing as Arthur was off with hunting with his knights for the next few days. Merlin eyed the bed for a minute, considering. 

It had been a very long day. He’d been run ragged by Gauis, out to the forest in the early morning for herbs, up and down and all around the castle to deliver medicines, and then all over the lower town, checking in with the ill and the elderly. Arthur’s bed looked so very tempting, and who was Merlin to resist temptation.

Laying down, Merlin stretched out with a satisfied moan. Burrowing his shoulders into the plush mattress, he let himself relax for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. Turning his head, he buried his nose in Arthur’s pillow, drawing in the scent of his Prince and let it flow over him. 

Arthur had laid in the very bed just this morning, sleep-rumpled and sated, having just finished himself off. The scent of his orgasm hadn’t even had a chance to fade before Merlin was throwing open the curtains and chivvying him out of bed, and the memory of that had been on Merlin’s mind off and on all day long. 

Now, he allowed the image to wash over him and felt himself start to harden. Reaching down between his legs, he stroked idly at his hardening cock, allowing his mind to wander to thoughts of Arthur performing this same act just a few hours ago. Cupping himself, he allowed the coarse material of his trousers to create a delicious friction until he was fully hard and could no longer stand it.

Lifting his hips, he stripped and scrambled at the drawer in the side table, where he knew Arthur kept a vial of oil. Coating his fingers, he wrapped them around his cock and stroked, moaning breathily as he imagined not his hand but Arthur’s sliding slowly up and down the length. He dragged his other hand lightly up his belly, pausing briefly to rub gently over the skin above his belly button. 

Continuing up, he flicked the tip of his finger over a nipple, but frowned at the lack of stimulation. A second later, he drew his fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking until they were dripping wet, then circled his nipple again. Only it wasn’t his finger anymore. It was Arthur’s tongue, rubbing and lapping it into a stiff peak; and his fingernails were Arthur’s teeth worrying gently at the pebbled flesh and sending a frisson of pleasure straight to his cock. 

Merlin gasped and moaned, but it wasn’t quite enough. Leaving off his nipple play, he trailed that hand back down his body and wrapped it around his cock, stroking in counter to the one already there. His hips bucked up into his hands, and he gasped and moaned, his head tilting back into the pillows as the pleasure built higher. Oil dripped down toward his balls, and his hand followed it, rolling them between deft fingers before tugging lightly as he continued to writhe. 

He could feel himself getting very close to his orgasm, but somehow, he couldn’t quite reach that edge. Frustrated, he sped his stroke and bucked harder. His fingers slipped in the oil, finding his hole. He slid the tip of one inside and wailed a bastardized version of the Prince’s name as his orgasm crashed over him. 

Coming down, he rolled to his side and smiled as his release slid down the planes of his stomach and joined Arthur’s long-dried come on the sheets.

* * *

**11.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

_“What are you doing in here?”_

_“Got bored of playing soldiers. And I’d thought I’d come and see how you were.”_

_“Busy.”_

_“Doing what?”_

_“What do you think!? Looking for Gaius.”_

_“I know everyone thinks he’s a traitor, but he’s not. He’s been abducted, Gwaine. He may even be dead.”_

_“Probably don’t need my help then.”_

\--

They’d found Gaius—mostly unharmed, though quite exhausted from the whole ordeal—and Merlin now had another ally against Morgana. Things were especially looking up, and he wasn’t even bothered when Arthur cheated him out of a morning off. Well, not too bothered at any rate. The nights were still his after all.

Speaking of knights…

The hesitant smile plastered to Merlin’s face turns into a full-blown real one as he meets the cheeky expression of one Sir Gwaine leaning in the doorway to the his chambers. 

“Fancy seeing you here, my friend,” and for a second his expression turns serious, “How’s Gaius?”

The relief from finding his mentor safe and bringing him back shows clearly on Merlin’s face. “Good. He’ll be a few days off his feet, but I expect he’ll be back to badgering me to collect herbs in no time.”

They share a fond laugh at that. Practically everyone in the castle knew that Gaius only sent Merlin out to collect herbs when he wanted to get the young man out of his hair for a bit.

Their mirth falls into a comfortable silence. A silence which Merlin breaks with a nervous, “So…”

Gwaine tilts his head, looking Merlin up and down, appraising him. 

“Would you like to come in?”

Merlin hesitates. They both know what Gwaine’s _really_ asking. He bites his bottom lip.  
“I wasn’t sure if you –”

Gwaine’s hand comes up to hold his chin, a gesture that should be emasculating, yet somehow makes Merlin look stronger. 

“I thought you had grown weary of our… friendship. I only want what makes you happy Merlin, but if you don’t want to…. that’s alright.” 

“I want you, Gwaine. I do. And I only hope you can forgive me for what terrible friend I’ve been these past few weeks. I’d understand if you didn’t want me as your… lover anymore.”

Gwaine could have answered him verbally. They could have gone back and forth like this all night, and he knew that in the end Merlin would still be left wondering if he’d created rift too big to fix. So Gwaine does the only thing that he is sure can ease Merlin’s mind. He tilts Merlin head back, moves to frame the sides of his face in his hands and give the other man the slowest, most passionate kiss he can.

Merlin almost immediately melts into him, his lips parting with a breathless moan. When Gwaine pulls back, Merlin’s eyes are glazed with arousal. He smirks, one hand curling around the back of Merlin’s neck as he pulls the unresisting man into his chambers. Hands grasp at ties and tug at frustrating fabric, eager to get each other as naked as possible.

Merlin doesn’t wait before Gwaine’s trousers are even half way down his thighs before sliding down and taking his leaking member in his mouth.

“Merlin.” Gwaine groans, carding his fingers through Merlin’s hair. Merlin looks up at him, smiling as much as he can around Gwaine’s cock. Gwaine huffs a laugh and tugs lightly on the hair on the back of Merlin’s neck. “I’d be a fool to give up that mouth of yours.”

Merlin chuckles, the vibrations of which wipes the small smirk right of Gwaine’s face. Merlin hums smugly, bowing his head to take Gwaine in again. His lips slick down the shaft, nose burying itself in the patch of brown hairs that cover Gwaine’s lower belly. He swallows around the thick length inside him, tickling his tongue along the large vein as he drags his way back up.

Almost of their own accord, Gwaine’s hips start to rock gently, seeking more friction, more heat, more wet. Merlin pulls back and holds, lets Gwaine fuck his mouth as the knight becomes more desperate to reach orgasm. It only takes a few more strokes into the wet unresisting heat of Merlin’s mouth before he pulls out completely and comes in thick white stripes over Merlin’s waiting lips.

* * *

**12.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/ Mordred  
 **Warning(s):** Voyeurism

It’s not that Merlin doesn’t trust Mordred-- but fuck-- it’s exactly that Merlin doesn’t trust Mordred. It’s amazing to him how quickly some people forgot the lessons learned from Aggravaine and Morgana; and perhaps if he hadn’t seen the destruction Mordred was capable of, or heard Kilgharrah’s dire warnings, Merlin would be more inclined to believe his act of innocence.

 

As it stands he feels completely justified in searching Mordred’s rooms. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. 

 

After seven years in Arthur’s service, Merlin’s pretty much a pro at this by now.

***

Mordred’s chambers are tidier then his own, which helps with Merlin's search but is annoying in and of itself. Every time Merlin looks at Mordred, gaze assessing, he feels like he’s looking at a paragon of knightly virtue, just screaming out to be dirtied. It makes him both irritated and wary; uncertain of what game Mordred is playing and unsure if he's willing to play it.

 

By the time five minutes have passed Merlin has found nothing of value and can hear footsteps approaching from the corridor. He launches himself into the nearest wardrobe, leaving the door open enough to spy through in case Mordred reveals a secret hiding spot or does anything remotely incriminating that he can ponder later.

 

Instead Mordred undresses efficiently, folding his clothes and riding himself of his boots, before relaxing naked on his bed.

 

Merlin can feel the heat infuse his face as he realises what he is about to witness, watching as Mordred takes himself in hand and tugs lazily.

 

He can feel the beginnings of arousal take hold low in his belly but he definitely isn’t going to get himself off while hiding in someone else’s wardrobe, like a perverted peeping tom. Surely he isn’t so degenerate that he could become aroused by watching Mordred when he had been searching his belongings not even ten minutes prior. His mother raised him with morals even if he doesn't always use them and he’s not _Gwaine_ after all.

 

But then Mordred’s long fingers are playing with the head of his erection, running over the slit and tugging at his balls as he bites his perfect bottom lip between his teeth, and Merlin wants take that lip and suckle it while he runs his hands over Mordred’s lithe body, lying supine beneath his own.

 

Mordred moans as his hand speeds up, jerking himself from root to tip and breaking Merlin from his unexpected fantasy with one hand pressed unconsciously against his hard cock. He closes his eyes against Mordred’s groans wishing he hadn’t hid in the first place, and had instead concocted one of the half-truths that Arthur always seemed to take at face value. It was too late to escape this frustration now. And both Mordred’s and Merlins arousals would make it uncomfortably awkward should he try.

 

When he opens his eyes to peek at Mordred again, Merlin can see his free hand dipping lower, rubbing against his buttocks. From Mordred’s face Merlin can deduce the exact moment he enters himself, mouth parting in a perfect ‘O’ while his eyes lose their focus and gain a dreamy quality. 

 

Merlin determinedly doesn’t touch himself as heat erupts along his nape a sweat gathers around his forehead and upper lip, his breathing becoming more ragged.

 

Mordred starts to tug at himself more frantically as he rocks up and down on his finger, crying out every time he finds that perfect spot inside himself until his body finally bends and an explosive cry bursts from his lips as he comes.

 

And in the depth of the wardrobe Merlin breaks, orgasm crashing over his body as Mordreds cry penetrates every corner of the room. The name of _Emrys_ echoing in his brain.

 

‘ _Well fuck_.’

* * *

**13.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

It’s not a conscious thought, but when Merlin accidentally sweeps Arthur’s goblet off his dresser while trying to return the key he borrowed, instinct dictates that he fling himself after it, plucking it from the air before it hits the floor.

He misses completely.

When it lands with a clatter on the other side of the room, Merlin finds himself thrown across Arthur’s bed. Across sleeping Arthur himself.

Merlin has never moved so fast in his life as when he launches backwards off the bed, hitting the stone floor with a jarring thud which sucks the air from his lungs, makes the back of his head clang like saucepans, and his hip want to crawl in to avoid the white pain.

It’s all he can do not to cry out.

On the bed, the coverlets slide with a rustle, and of course Arthur’s waking up—not even he could sleep through a bodyslam like that. Merlin curses himself for ten kinds of fool.

Arthur’s up on his elbows looking away to where the goblet has rolled to a stop, and Merlin dives under the bed before he’s even caught his breath.

**&**

The room’s silent; Merlin thinks perhaps Arthur’s drifted back to sleep.

He wishes he’d had the presence of mind to stop the goblet with magic, or think up any excuse that would mean walking out of here instead of hiding under Arthur’s bed with clumps of dust and a dead beetle. Merlin’s lip curls in disgust.

Just as he’s resolved to try his luck, Arthur’s bed creaks ominously.

Merlin freezes.

He’s not sure what he’s hearing at first.

There’s more rustling, and Arthur sighs, long and content, in a way Merlin’s never heard before. His skin tingles with foreboding.

It takes a good moment to process the next sound. Merlin’s mouth falls open in shock.

Above him, Arthur groans, voice thick and raspy from sleep, and the low edge of it creeps up Merlin’s spine like cold fingers.

And it’s not like he hasn’t imagined—of course he has. Merlin’s only human, and Arthur’s not shy about his body. It’s only too easy to picture him laid out on the bed above, teasing himself, cupping, tugging—Merlin swallows dryly. Oh yes, only too easy.

Silence falls, and Merlin’s entire body tunes in, waiting. The wet lick can only mean one thing, and sure enough, there’s a distinct _fwap, fwap_ from above, the familiar echo of a moistened palm moving over private skin. Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, but Arthur’s waiting there too, gloriously gold and broad and heavy. He’d be a solid slab. He’d pin down, and own, and wedge in between thighs like a conqueror, and he’d _take_.

Merlin shivers, wondering if Arthur's scars look darker when his blood heats.

Arthur’s surprisingly vocal, Merlin never imagined that. He grunts, moans brokenly into his bedding, and Merlin gives in with a sigh, sneaking cold fingers sneak under the placket of his trousers, movements awkward and constricted in the small space beneath Arthur’s bed. His hip aches, but it’s good. It’s grounding.

He eases his cock’s own slick around the head with his fingertips, silently sucking air. Above, Arthur’s counting each stroke with _ah, ah, ah_ and below, Merlin imagines licking lazy, wet curlicues over Arthur’s chest, tasting hair against the grain. 

He opens his mouth and sucks in a fingertip like it’s Arthur’s nipple, curling his tongue around it, then stretches his mouth around three fingers, sliding them over his tongue like he’d suck a cock. Listening to Arthur pant, he imagines the texture of the crease between those big thighs and Arthur’s sac, the dark blond thatch of hair at the base of Arthur’s cock glistening with Merlin’s spit, absolutely filthy with it.

Merlin’s shuddering breaths are too loud but Arthur can’t hear, he’s fucking his fist good and hard, the sounds sticking Merlin’s thoughts together like smears of warm honey and curling around his insides, low, deep and throbbing.

Merlin works himself as harshly as the space will allow, biting down on his fingers, swallowing the name he can’t say, and his dignity with it.

He comes in his trousers like an untried boy, then memorises Arthur’s almost pained, rough moan, wishing he could be inside Arthur’s head, seeing what he sees in that one blinding moment.

He waits, cold and slowly crusting, until he hears Arthur’s light snores, then makes his escape, stomach muscles spasming in dark pleasure each time he remembers.

* * *

**14.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Something that might be construed as dub-con (because of magic spell), sad!crack, excessive swearing, ambiguous ending.  
 **Title:** Spell Me The Truth Of How You Feel

Merlin’s lugging a huge basket of Arthur’s dirty, stinking laundry down to the kitchens when he’s intercepted by King Prat himself. He scoffs.

“What now? Can’t you manage two minutes without me?” he grinds out, annoyed.

Arthur’s grin is disconcerting as he leans in and whispers, “Actually, no.”

And he drags Merlin into a dark nook and attack-snogs him, making Merlin drop the laundry basket in shock. It lands on the stone floor with a thud, spilling dirty clothes everywhere. When Merlin manages to escape Arthur’s clutches, claiming he has to do the laundry _right bloody now_ , Arthur actually follows and sits on the bench beside him while he works. Merlin can feel the intent of his gaze, and sometimes Arthur even reaches out and strokes the nape of his neck, causing him to shiver with suppressed lust. (Fuckfuckfuck, _don’t_ get a hard-on! Don’t you _dare_. Fuck.)

Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

*

So, it turns out that all of Camelot has fallen under some sort of spell. Again. How much magic can a magic-hating kingdom really attract? (Oh, right. A lot!) Anyway, apparently people are unable to stop themselves from expressing their true feelings towards the people they love. (And what kind of half-ass spell is that? Hardly a threat to the kingdom.) 

The workings of the spell both hurts and pleases Merlin, because he’s been loving Arthur for years. And yes, all would be well and good... if the side effect of the spell wasn’t that whatever the affected do while _under_ the spell is forgotten when the spell’s _broken._

So, even if Arthur professes his love for Merlin and appoints him his Consort, he won’t remember it when the spell breaks. It takes a day and a half of hidden snogs around the castle before Merlin realises that it’s probably quite morally wrong even to just... _avoid_ to lift the spell. His decision might also have something to do with George, who, every time he spots Arthur, gets a really soft look on his face and what looks suspiciously like an erection under his pristine breeches, and that’s something that Merlin can’t really stand. (What the hell, George? Arthur is _Merlin’s_ and no one else’s.)

*

Merlin searches through half the library before finding the right potion that will save Camelot’s residents from their own loving feelings. (Oh, huzzah. Like the repressed arsehole of a King really needs _that._ ) Arthur fucking needs the opposite, as far as Merlin is concerned. Gathering his things, Merlin mutters as many foul words as he can think of as he goes to brew the damned thing.

*

Entering Arthur’s chambers, Merlin sets the vial with the potion on the table. Arthur isn’t here. Oh well, he’s probably off somewhere picking Merlin flowers or something. He’ll be back. Merlin has thought about this and if he never can have it again, he sure as hell is going to take advantage now. 

When Arthur enters the chambers, Merlin launches himself at his King and kisses him desperately, almost violently. Arthur lets out a surprised but highly pleased humming sound before grabbing Merlin’s arse, pressing him close, deepening the kiss.

The preparation is only just enough when Arthur pushes into him, but Merlin doesn’t care. He savours the pain, reaches back and tries to drag Arthur closer, further in, prompts him to start moving. (For fuck’s sake, move, Arthur, _move!_ )

Arthur moves, but he doesn’t set the harsh pace Merlin craves. Instead, he takes his time, wants to make it last, pressing gentle kisses to Merlin’s spine. Tears threaten to break out from behind Merlin’s closed eyelids, because he doesn’t want the softness. That will make his existence in Camelot even more unbearable afterwards, knowing that Arthur’s feelings are nothing short of love and not just a rough, desperate need to fuck his useless servant into the mattress. 

In the end, Merlin wets the bedclothes with both tears and come, and later, when he hands Arthur the potion and tells him to drink it, he feels an emptiness in his chest he’s never quite felt before.

*

When Arthur knocks on his door before stepping into the room, Merlin lies on his bed, sniffling softly into his pillow.

“Merlin?”

Straightening up and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Merlin answers, “Yes, sire?”

“I– Why are you crying?”

“No reason, sire.”

“Stop calling me sire. I was going to ask you if you’re up for round two? You were gone when I woke up.”

* * *

**15.**  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** Dubcon /Noncon, knifeplay, hints of dom/sub

“You should have told me, Merlin.” 

Arthur’s voice at Will’s funeral pyre had been cold and hard. 

They had barely spoken on the trip back to Camelot. Arthur had remained aloof, and Merlin was so numb inside that he didn’t even try to talk. 

When they got back late on the second day, Merlin had accompanied Arthur to his chambers and tried to help him undress. But Arthur had turned his back on him, and said, “Go away, Merlin. I don’t want you around right now.” 

The next morning Merlin had gone to Arthur’s room as usual, but a guard had barred the door and said, “The Prince says your services are not required today.” *** 

Arthur didn’t let him come back for a week. 

Merlin knew that Arthur was angry because he thought Merlin had hidden the fact that Will was a sorcerer. But Will wasn’t a sorcerer. 

Merlin was. 

Merlin thought bitterly of his mother’s words. 

“You belong at Arthur's side. I've seen how much he needs you, how much you need him. You're like two sides of the same coin.” 

Well, it didn’t seem like Arthur needed him much. *** 

When he was finally summoned to Arthur’s chambers, Merlin didn’t know what to expect. 

Arthur was sitting at the chair by his table, cutting up an apple with a small dagger. He pointed it at Merlin casually and gestured at the chair, saying, “Sit.” 

Merlin sat, and watched as Arthur wiped the blade with a linen napkin. The freshly-honed edge of the blade shone in the morning sun. 

Arthur toyed with the dagger for a moment, and Merlin remembered how very fond Arthur was of sharp pointy things. 

And suddenly the dagger was pointing at his throat, the tip resting with a pressure that was just shy of drawing blood. Merlin held very still, afraid to even breathe. 

“You lied to me, Merlin. I saw what happened. You were the one who raised that windstorm. “ 

Arthur pulled the blade back just a bit. “You may speak when I ask you a question. Do not lie to me, or I’ll slit your throat. Do you understand?” 

Merlin nodded. 

He noted that Arthur didn’t look angry anymore, but that his eyes were bright with some strong emotion. 

“Take off your scarf.” 

Merlin raised his hands and fumbled with the knot, and when he had it undone he placed it on the table. 

“Are you a sorcerer?” 

“Yes.” Merlin trembled as he realized that the emotion he saw in Arthur was lust. 

“Very good. Take your shirt off.” 

Merlin thought about refusing, but Arthur looked dangerous, so he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. 

Arthur drew the flat of the blade across Merlin’s chest, twisting his wrist when he reached a nipple. Merlin felt the cold edge of the blade against the tender skin, and his nipple hardened. 

“Who do you serve?” Arthur asked, holding the blade steady. 

“No one but you, Sire, “ Merlin gasped. In spite of the fact that Arthur could easily slice off some tender bit of skin that Merlin would rather keep, he was getting hard in his trousers. 

He wasn’t really afraid. 

Alright, he was a little bit afraid. But somehow that made the situation even more exciting. 

“Stand up,”Arthur ordered. 

Merlin complied, and watched in horrified awe as Arthur drew the blade very lightly down the center of Merlin’s chest, down to his navel, pausing at the line of dark hair that started just below Merlin’s navel. There was no blood, just a tingling sensation, and Merlin started to shake. 

“Hold very still,” Arthur said. And he used the blade to cut the laces on Merlin’s breeches. 

The breeches fell to Merlin’s knees, exposing his smallclothes. Arthur slipped the tip of the blade into the waistband, and neatly sliced them open. Merlin’s rigid cock sprang out. 

He slid the blade between Merlin’s thighs, sharp side up, not hurting Merlin, but with the sharp blade very close to his balls. He asked his last question. 

“Do you swear to use your magic only for the good of Camelot?” 

“Until the day I die,” Merlin answered, riding the heady combination of fear and arousal Arthur’s skill with the blade aroused in him. 

“Good.” 

The blade clattered to the floor as Arthur took Merlin into his mouth. 

* * *

**16.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

It’s not as if Merlin is the only one with a secret. Arthur knows plenty about secrets, both how to keep one and how to tell if someone is hiding one. Growing up with a father like Uther has made Arthur very careful about the ones he keeps.

Arthur can tell Merlin is hiding _something_. He doesn’t quite know what it is yet, but he’s going to find out one way or another. Merlin stumbles along beside him cheerfully—never looking at his feet, only at Arthur—and chatters like a magpie. Arthur has tried to tell Merlin to shut up and be silent like a good servant, but it goes in one ridiculous ear and out the other, and Arthur has decided to stop wasting his breath. Arthur doesn’t mind the chatter so much anymore; the air feels empty now when Merlin isn’t there to fill it with words. 

But his ramblings have an added benefit: Arthur is sure he’ll weasel Merlin’s secret out of him eventually.

*

Arthur becomes so preoccupied with finding out Merlin’s secret that he stops paying attention to everything else he does with Merlin.

It’s a fleeting moment, something Arthur doesn’t think about. He only feels. He presses Merlin’s mouth against his, a brush of a kiss after Merlin finishes dressing him. Arthur doesn’t even realise he’s done it until he’s halfway out the door and turns around to see what’s keeping Merlin. Merlin is rooted to the spot, staring at him with his mouth agape like a fool, and Arthur pauses to wonder what on earth he ever saw in that mouth when he kissed it and—oh. That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?

*

It’s not a problem. Well, it is a problem, because everything that has to do with Merlin is a problem, but the actual doing part—that’s not a problem. They begin with kissing. Merlin likes to close his eyes when he’s kissed, and Arthur likes to keep his open to watch Merlin, except sometimes Merlin slides his tongue sweetly against Arthur’s with just the right amount of pressure, and Arthur’s eyelids fall shut on their own somehow. He’s working on it.

*

After kissing, it’s touching. Arthur doesn’t like to hug, has always been told by his father that hugging isn’t for princes, but touching, _touching_ is something different. A clap on the shoulder, a palm between the shoulder blades, a ruffling of hair—Arthur allows himself only small touches in public, unable to stop his hands from reaching for Merlin. In private, Merlin comes alive underneath Arthur’s fingers, scrabbling at him, tugging him down, touching every bit of skin he can reach, every emotion written across his face.

Arthur watches the way Merlin’s eyes go soft and unfocused when he wraps a hand around his cock, sliding his fingers up and down slowly, teasingly, lingering at the spots that make Merlin gasp. Merlin is uncoordinated, clumsy, and eager in bed, and Arthur feels the same: everything is new with Merlin. Everything else fades away until there is nothing left but Merlin’s eyes on his, Merlin’s mouth on his, Merlin’s cock sliding against his in a rhythm of their own making. Arthur watches Merlin as he nears orgasm, his mouth slack, his skin slick with sweat, his face flushed pink, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s face as he comes. 

Afterward, they lie together, spent, but Arthur can’t close his eyes for want of watching Merlin. They stay together underneath the blankets, skin to skin, face to face, until dawn breaks and Arthur feels a new secret taking hold of his heart.

*

Arthur is right—he usually is—and Merlin tells Arthur his secret himself. In fact, he blurts it out in the council room, admitting to being a sorcerer to save Gwen’s father’s life. Because _Arthur_ isn’t an idiot, he does what needs to be done to save Merlin from himself. But now he knows: Merlin has magic.

For as long as Arthur can remember, magic has been something to fear. “It can only be used for evil, Arthur,” his father tells him time and time again. “Remember that.”

Arthur remembers it. It becomes ingrained into his thoughts, his actions. It catches him completely by surprise to know Merlin is using it for good, not evil. Merlin continues to use magic to save lives—to save _Arthur’s_ life—and wants nothing for it, not gold, not power, not even acknowledgement or gratitude.

Arthur knows only one way to repay that. Merlin would give his life for Arthur’s: in turn, Arthur would give his for Merlin’s. 

That’s Arthur’s secret now.

* * *

**17.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Uther  
 **Warnings:** incest, some internalized humiliation

The clacking of his boots against the stone floor echoes loudly in the quiet of the night. Arthur pauses briefly as he turns the last corner, seeing the two guards on either side of the door, considering – but can’t stop once they spot him, stand at attention. He sends them away.

Arthur knocks once before opening the door carefully. His father is in bed, barely awake; his face open and unguarded in a way Arthur rarely gets to see anymore. It’s refreshing and beautiful; Arthur captures it in his mind and stores it forever, along with all the tiny smiles, and nods of approval, and the rare hugs. His father looks at him as Arthur closes the door and his features school back to the hard lines of a king Arthur is used to.

“Arthur. Has something happened?”

“No, nothing’s happened.” Arthur makes his way over to his father’s bedside, sitting in the chair. He can feel his heart hammering inside his chest and briefly wonders if perhaps his father can hear it too, or the guards down the corridor, or the rest of Camelot.

His father nods, a vague look of approval aimed at Arthur, as if he’s the one who risked his life. “What is it, then?” he asks.

Suddenly, Arthur wants to stand up and leave, make up a lie about crops or the kitchens, but it’s not how his father taught him. He’s been trained to kill since birth, to look death in the face and laugh, but somehow, in the quiet of his father’s chambers, it’s different. 

Arthur’s skin feels too tight, constricting and suffocating him, like his father’s gaze, which grows more intense and impatient. Arthur can see his father sitting up and he can’t be dismissed, does the only thing he can think of. He drops to his knees. 

“Arthur,” his father starts, but says nothing else. Arthur takes the silence as permission, at least for now. He shuffles toward the bed, until his forehead rests against the side, and he waits. 

The bed sheets shuffle before Arthur feels the gentle press of his father’s warm, dry hand against his head. It runs through his hair once, twice, and it shouldn’t be enough for all the tension, fear, anger, and confusion of earlier in the day to suddenly drain out, but it is. 

Arthur can feel himself shaking, tears threatening to flood his closed eyelids. He knows his father must notice. Arthur tries to stop, but he can’t; he’s failing. 

He tries to push away, but his father’s hand moves quickly, cups the side of his face and holds him still. Arthur can’t help himself – he rubs his cheek against the rough palm until the storm inside him subsides. 

His father rubs a thumb along his cheekbone and lifts his face up. Arthur keeps his eyes closed.

“Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tighter, he grabs onto his father’s arm with both hands, keeps it steady as he places kisses all over his palm.

He can feel his father move closer, making gentle shushing sounds before another hand grabs his shoulder and tugs up; the order behind the gesture unmistakeable. Arthur keeps his eyes closed as he climbs onto the bed beside his father. 

His body is still shaking when Arthur tosses all propriety out the window and turns to his father, clings to him like he used to as a little boy, hiding under tables during feasts and council meetings. He holds his father close and doesn’t cry while his hands scramble to touch him, feel him living. 

Arthur kisses and mouths at his throat, body not his own when he realizes he’s humping against his father, his cock hard. He tries to get away, shame making bile rise in his throat, but his father stops him with a firm hand, the same hand he rules a kingdom with, and Arthur stays. He lets his father pet his hair while Arthur continues rocking against his hip, movements desperate to reclaim his father from death’s door. 

He holds his father’s bedshirt so tight his hands cramp up, but he doesn’t stop thrusting, doesn’t stop pressing kisses to his shoulder, neck until his father grips his face and presses his lips against Arthur’s, hard. It’s all Arthur needs before he’s coming in his trousers, clinging tighter. His father pets his hair through it all, whispers, “My boy,” against his lips. Arthur opens his eyes and the tears begin to fall.

* * *

**18.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Gwen  
 **Warnings:** Nada

Arthur trailed his fingers down the skin of Gwen’s side and his lips along the line of her collarbone. 

 

“Arthur,” Gwen said breathily. 

 

Arthur smiled against her skin and looked up. 

 

“Please.” Gwen trailed a finger along his eyebrow. 

 

“No,” Arthur said kissing the soft swell of her breast. “I almost lost you. I am going to take my time.”

 

“Or…” Gwen said slowly, curling her leg around his thigh and pulling him closer. “You could go much more quickly and then again after some dinner.”

 

Arthur shook his head and nosed at Gwen’s pebbled nipple. Then he kissed it, pulled it into his warm mouth and used his teeth and lips to worry it to an even tighter point before licking at it with his tongue. 

 

“I am the King,” Arthur said releasing her nipple. “You are one of my subjects and I will do as I please with you.”

 

Gwen laughed under him. 

 

“Are you questioning my authority?”

 

“No,” Gwen said, wriggling down until she could feel the hard line of him pressing against her body. “Only that you think you have any authority over me when we are be bed together. You may be King but I am the Queen and I demand satisfaction.”

 

Arthur smiled and ground his hips down into her. “I pride myself on always ensuring your satisfaction.”

 

“And yet,” Gwen said reaching between them to grasp his erection. “You are refusing me.”

 

Arthur pulled her nipple into his mouth again and sucked until she moaned and arched under him. He moved over to the other breast and moved a hand down to slide over her belly button. He felt her abdomen flutter beneath his fingers and he petted the soft skin between her navel and the soft curls then he intended to explore thoroughly until she began to squirm. Arthur lifted his head to look at his wife, her eyes were closed and she was biting her full bottom lip. He leaned up to lick at the red indent on her bottom lip and she opened her eyes to look at him. 

 

“I could not stand to lose you.” Arthur said pressing his fingers further down, to the wet, hot, place that made her arch beautifully under him. 

 

“Ar-thur!” Gwen said and her chest expanded as she caught and held her breath.

He worked her with his fingers, sliding over the hooded nub that made her moan and down to her wet entrance. He slid two fingers into her, enjoying the tight clench of her body as her heels dug into his legs. He watched her face avidly as his fingers continued to work. She was expressive in her pleasure even if she was not vocal. She never whispered dirty things into his ear as he slid his cock into her body but he could see by her expression that she was well on her way to satisfaction. 

 

Gwen reached up and gripped his shoulders. Her fingernails dug into the skin over his shoulder blades. That would make Merlin smirk at Arthur tomorrow but he didn’t care. When she was almost there…so close, he pulled his hand away from her. She slapped him sharply where her fingers had been clutching him. 

 

“Wait.” Arthur said, before slipping down beneath the sheets and kissing his way down her body. He kissed her thigh and lapped his way in until he could taste her juices. He licked at them and then continued inwards, hitching one of her legs over his shoulder and spreading her for his mouth and tongue. He licked at her opening, coated his lips in her wetness before moving up and pulling her nub into his mouth. He sucked hard. He could hear the thud as her hand connected with the headboard and she came, moaning out her pleasure. 

 

He moved up and slipped into her as she was still coming back to him. Her body a tight clench around him that gave unexpectedly as she threw her limbs around his body and pulled him in close. As soon as he was seated in her he could no longer ignore his need, both for her body and to assure himself that she was here and safe. He set a fast, hard, rhythm that she met thrust for thrust.

 

Gwen pulled him into a kiss and licked her own taste from his mouth. 

 

With a last, forceful thrust he pushed into her and came, her name on his lips and in his heart.

* * *

**19.**  
 **Pairing(s):** George/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** None

Gwaine didn't know what else to do except go to the tavern. The other knights looked at him like he was a horrible human being for even suggesting it, but if Merlin was still out there, they weren't going to find him that night.

When he stepped into the tavern, the familiarity of debauchery warmed his heart. A pint of ale was thrust into his hand before he was five paces inside. He sipped his drink and leaned against the wall for a minute, surveying the room. He'd had all the barmaids before, not that he wasn't interested in repeat performances, but he was more in the mood for a lad anyway. He needed a distraction, and pulling a bloke was a bit more of a challenge for Gwaine, as some blokes were unfortunately not amenable to a roll in the hay with another man. 

But over the years, Gwaine had gotten better at picking out the ones who were _very_ amenable, the ones who were curious and easily swayed, and the ones who would punch him in the face at the mere suggestion. 

At first look, Gwaine was disappointed at his chances, until he spotted him. 

In the corner sat a young man with a drab haircut, but the prettiest pair of lips Gwaine had ever seen, well, other than Arthur's, but Gwaine wasn't about to go down that road again. He had successfully been on the no nobility wagon for months. This lad was dressed neatly in Pendragon colours, wearing a uniform much like Merlin's, and that's when it clicked that he must be Arthur's new manservant.

Said manservant was staring sadly into his ale when Gwaine approached and dropped into the chair beside him at the table.

“George, is it?” Gwaine asked casually before taking a long sip from his cup.

“Yes, sir.” George replied.

“Why so glum?”

“I think I've displeased the king.”

“What makes you say that?” Gwaine leaned forward into George's space, forcing the man to lift his eyes up. 

“He dismissed me early tonight with an order to 'go to the tavern or something'.”

“Oh now, I don't think he's displeased. Earlier I heard him say you were the best servant in the kingdom.”

“Really?” George's eyes lit up.

“He just likes to give his manservants time off. He probably thought he was being generous.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. I wouldn't worry about it. You should try to enjoy your evening off.” Gwaine smiled. “What is it you like to do in your spare time?”

“Well,” George said matter-of-factly. “I rather like polishing brass.”

Gwaine almost choked on his ale. This wasn't going to be a hard pull at all. “You like polishing brass.” He slowly repeated George's words.

“Oh, yes. There are different kinds of brass, you know, and depending on the type of oil, your grip, and the motion you use, you can get all kinds of satisfying results.”

“What do you usually polish?”

George looked thoughtful for a moment. “Candlesticks mostly.”

“Sticks? What about knobs. Do you like to polish knobs?” Gwaine lowered his voice and looked up through his eyelashes at George.

“Knobs are my speciality.”

“Would you like to show me how you polish a knob?”

George swallowed hard. “Any knob? Or do you have a particular knob in mind?”

“Well, I do have a knob in need of polishing. And if you give me a proper demonstration of your technique, maybe I could try it out on your knob?”

“Just to be clear, sir. We aren't strictly speaking about _brass_ knobs, are we?”

“Nearly as hard,” Gwaine murmured. He leaned in close and whispered in George's ear, “but why don't you come to my quarters and find out.”

Gwaine stood, a move that put his crotch right at George's eye level. He blatantly adjusted his bulge and then headed toward the tavern door. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that George was scrambling after him. 

Thirty minutes later, a very satisfied, very naked, and very polished-off Gwaine stretched out on his bed with an equally sated George flopping down beside him.

“Well, the king was wrong.”

“About what, sir?”

“If your knob polishing skills are any indication, you're the best manservant in all the _five_ kingdoms.”

* * *

**20.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Elena/Freya  
 **Warning(s):** No frogs were harmed during the production of this entry.

The frog croaked. Elena caught her breath and looked around quickly, but neither her guards nor Grunhilda were in sight. She shouldn't... she swallowed hard, but her mouth kept watering, thinking of the muddy aroma, the slick body, the way it would kick in her throat as it went down. It was only a little green frog...

Her father would be so disappointed. He loved her, but he was always disappointed--by her clumsiness, her rebellious hair, her inability to remember which fork to use at table--nothing that a princess should be. But she'd agreed to come with him to Camelot to meet Prince Arthur, even though she knew he wouldn't like her anyway. And even if the prince accepted the proposed match, she was certain he wouldn't let her have any frogs either.

Elena's resolve firmed. She deserved this little treat. Casting another wary look around, Elena gathered up her skirts and prepared to pounce.

She took one step, two, feeling her limbs alien and not quite hers as always, then tripped over a rock, falling to her hands and knees in a flurry of skirts and damp fallen leaves, and the frog, alerted, leapt away and vanished with a plop into the lake even as she tried to scramble forward after it. 

"No!" Elena let out a little sob of disappointment, and pounded the muddy bank with her fists. Her dress was surely ruined, again. "Why do I always... Why can't I do anything right?"

Then she saw the girl watching her curiously, reflected in the wavering surface of the lake, and stopped herself, feeling her face flush hot with embarrassment. She looked around quickly, but no one was behind her. Was she mistaken?

She looked back at the water, and saw the girl again, pretty and delicate, with long, dark hair, pale skin unmarred by sun and wind (though Elena could never give up riding, never). A fine silk dress that Elena would surely ruin even before she could even put it on. Elena wiped her hands on her own wrecked dress, self-conscious. "Who--who are you?" She glanced behind herself again felt her skin crawl. "What are you?"

The girl in the water mouthed something. _Freya._ She pointed at Elena's hands. _Are you all right? Your hands are all scratched up._

Elena hid her hands behind her, ashamed. "It's all right! My fault, I was being stupid. I'm always stupid."

The girl smiled, sweet without a hint of scorn, and it warmed Elena inside  
like honey mead. _No, you're not. None of this is your fault. Give me your hands,_ said the girl, holding out her open palms.

Bemused, Elena obeyed, putting her hands in the water. She shivered at the cool touch on her hands, neither water nor flesh, soothing away the hurts. Freya's little touches, the soft strokes on her hands sent tingles of pleasure coursing through her, and suddenly greedy, she pushed her arms deeper in the water, not caring that she'd soaked her sleeves completely. "My elbows too, please?"

Freya giggled soundlessly at her, and stroked up her arms shyly.

The strokes become a light tickle on the sensitive insides of her upper arms, and somehow sent a bolt of sensation up to prick her nipples sharply. She gasped, and clenched her thighs together at the delicious feeling. "More," she demanded, bending until her arms were fully submerged. "Please." Cool water crept up, diffident, and spread over her breasts, rippled, and Elena moaned. If she could... but... she shouldn't.

Elena inhaled sharply, pulling back. Freya looked up at her in confusion and a touch of hurt. No. She wanted this girl more than any frog, and certainly more than the loveless marriage waiting at the end of this journey.

She stepped in, felt the water glide around and touch her feet and ankles, smiled mischievously at Freya, who looked at her with wide, amazed eyes and a rosy blush tinting her pale cheeks. The water rose over her calves. She dragged up her skirts, wading deeper, water swirling over her thighs, and let herself lie back as the lake rushed in to caress her all over with wondering fingers.

\-----

 _When you have done what you need to at Camelot, come back._ Elena closed her eyes and held on to Freya's parting words, let the disapproving women tut over her ruined dress and the leaves in her hair.

* * *

**21.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Leon  
 **Warning(s):** None

There was only so long a woman could hold the throne on her own before the people started to worry, Gwen knew that, even with allowances made for mourning. Still, she took what time she had and used it for her own. And even when the people began to whisper and wonder about Camelot's future, she stood alone and did the best she could, for Arthur. When other kingdoms began sending their princes -- and then their earls, and their dukes, and their second sons, in a desperate hope that _someone_ would catch her fancy -- she entertained them all, as befit foreign dignitaries, and sent them home disappointed.

And when one day, after bidding farewell to the latest hopeful envoy, Leon drew her into a private room and dropped to one knee with a terribly earnest expression, tears welled in Gwen's eyes that had never come before, not for any of the foreign suitors. "I can't ask that of you," she whispered, trying to pull Leon to his feet, even as her heart whispered that it was the smartest match of them all. The people would welcome a union between Arthur's widow and his most trusted knight. And Gwen thought maybe, just maybe, she could bear to remarry, if it was to her oldest and dearest friend.

"You're not," he said. "You haven't." And he ducked his head and remained on one knee. "But I am yours, if you'll have me."

*

They married in summer, the hall so full of flowers that every breath was perfumed. And afterwards, when Gwen was full from the feasting and unsteady from the drinking, Leon lead her upstairs to her chambers. She sat on the bed and struggled with her bodice's laces, and only noticed Leon was still in the doorway when he spoke.

"No one will expect you to be a maiden, after Arthur," he said abruptly. "There will be no need for proof of your innocence. We don't..." He looked at the bed like it was some dreadful beast he was determined to vanquish. "We don't have to. Not tonight. Not if you don't—"

"Leon." She patted the bed beside her. "Come sit with me." He obeyed, and she took his hand in hers. "I wouldn't have wedded you if I feared this part of our marriage."

He looked unconvinced. She wondered if he'd entered into this wedding thinking she feared consummating it, or if he feared it himself.

She said his name again, and tucked her fingers beneath his chin to tip his face to hers. "We're friends, aren't we? We were children together. We shouldn't fear each other."

He let out a slow breath and leaned his cheek into her touch. "You are my lady," he said quietly. "And it is not friendship I want from you."

She smiled and shifted, swinging one leg over to straddle him. His hands went to her waist like they belonged there. "It's not the first time I've helped you undress, after all," she said lightly as she worked at his laces, and was pleased when it earned her a smile.

He let her undress him, and when she was finished, he laid her down on the bed and knelt between her legs. His fingers skimmed up her calves, pushing the dress up with it. His gaze was warm, and it made her heart flutter.

He undressed her methodically, and with great care. When they were both bare, she reached for him, slid her arms around his back and drew him over her.

He was hard against her thigh. When she grasped him, a shudder ran through him, and when she made room for him between her knees and fit the head of his cock against her entrance, he muffled a groan against the skin of her shoulder.

It had been so long. She hadn't had anyone, not since Arthur, and her body ached now, unaccustomed to the intrusion. But Leon kissed and stroked her through it until she was trembling beneath him, shivering and gasping as she came undone beneath his touch. And then he pulled her into a kiss and groaned against her mouth as he spent himself inside her.

They clung together afterwards, gasping into each other's mouths, sliding hands through sweat. "I am yours," Leon murmured close against her ear. "I have always been yours." And Gwen kissed him, and held him tight, and smiled against his skin. For the first time since before Camlann, she felt content.

* * *

**22.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** glove/leather kink, v. mild d/s undertones

When Arthur turns around, there's a wicked gleam in his otherwise cool expression. 

"What the hell was that?"

It takes several swallows before his voice will form something that resembles words. "It was, um. Horseplay?"

"No, Merlin," Arthur says with deliberate slowness. "You're doing it wrong." He takes the butter-soft glove from Merlin's hands and sheaths his hand. "Why don't I show you?"

The promissory tone makes his already-interested cock almost painfully hard. Arthur swaggers up to him, invading his space until they're toe to toe. The air is hot and charged. Arthur draws one finger down Merlin's cheek and smirks when Merlin lets a whimper out.

"Open," he commands, and slips a finger in Merlin's mouth when he obeys. Merlin stokes the fire in Arthur's eyes with his tongue, caressing and following the folds and creases of the glove until his mouth is ripe with the flavour of leather and oil. "Get it wet," Arthur says, sliding another finger in beside the first one. "They're all I'm going to use on you."

The line should sound ridiculous, but Merlin can't help but moan around the fingers in his mouth, suckling harder until the leather is sodden and Arthur removes them from Merlin's mouth with an audible pop.

"Strip."

Merlin's trousers are around his pants in record time but his upper half proves more of a problem. His shirt and neckerchief get tangled around his ears and head, but he can't feel embarrassed when Arthur barks out his stupidly endearing laugh.

Some of the fire in Arthur's face has been replaced with open affection by the time Merlin's fully naked, but it feels no less intense as Arthur manhandles him onto the bed, arms splayed out across the covers and arse in the air.

Merlin stares at the blanket on Arthur's obscenely large bed, shivering as Arthur runs a gloved finger down his spine. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off when Arthur gives his rear a sound slap. That," he says, leaning over Merlin's back to breathe hotly in his ear, "is for earlier." He presses a hot kiss to the back of Merlin's neck and gives him another smack before he draws off.

There are several moments of anticipation before Merlin feels Arthur again, spreading his arse cheeks. Merlin has barely any warning before he feels Arthur mouth at his hole. He jumps, earning him another smack, and then relaxes, pushing back against Arthur's tongue with a wanton moan. He feels Arthur say something against him, but he can't hear the words. He whines when Arthur eases off, but he isn't disappointed long. "I did say I would show you," Arthur said as he worked one finger into Merlin's hole with a squelch. It's drier than they usually do, but whatever discomfort Merlin feels is far overshadowed by the sensation of the leather inside him.

"Oh," he gasps, and bucks his hips against the bed, desperately seeking friction. "This is horseplay?"

Arthur's laugh is somehow both smug and fond, but Merlin forgives him as he feels another finger being worked in beside the second. "Well," he says, brushing his other hand against Merlin's hip. "Perhaps foreplay."

* * *

**23.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** n/a

Gwen is just finishing arranging Morgana's hair when Morgana says, “I saw you flirting with the new servant boy.”

“He's Gaius's new assistant,” Gwen says after a pause. “And I wasn't _flirting_ , just...welcoming him to Camelot.”

“Do you welcome all new servants? I hadn't noticed.”

“Not all of them! He looked lonely.”

“Do you think he might look _lonely_ because he keeps getting himself thrown into the stocks? You shouldn't bother with such a troublemaker, Gwen.”

“Arthur's being unreasonable and you know it.” Gwen fastens the heavy gold necklace around Morgana's throat, allowing her hands to linger on the warm skin as she bends down to whisper, “Are you jealous, my lady?”

Morgana snorts. “Hardly.” 

Gwen, though, is too well-versed in the angles of Morgana's shoulders and the stubborn jut of her chin to be fooled by so half-hearted a denial. 

“You know I serve you,” Gwen says seriously, stepping around to tug her up from her chair. “There's never been another for me.”

“Don't say it like that.” Morgana cups her hands around Gwen's face, stroking one thumb along her cheek. “Don't make me sound like a duty.” 

Gwen pulls Morgana in with two fingers under her chin. “Never,” she says, and kisses Morgana, closing her eyes at the sweetness of Morgana's soft lips, the warm spices of her perfume. “Nothing about you has ever been _duty_.”

Morgana opens under the kiss, slipping her arms around Gwen's waist to hold her close, and Gwen steps in eagerly, sliding her hands down over Morgana's breasts, enjoying the feel of them beneath the fabric of her dress. The touch makes Morgana hiss through her teeth.

“We shouldn't,” Morgana says. “Dinner—”

“Can wait,” Gwen interrupts firmly. “Not for long,” she adds at Morgana's raised eyebrow; “just long enough.”

“It takes forever to put this dress on,” Morgana protests. “You should know that, of all people.”

Gwen gives her a crooked little smile. “I don't want to take it off,” she says, sinking to her knees and letting her hands trail down Morgana's stomach to her thighs. “I just want to taste you.” She folds her hands around the backs of Morgana's knees, and it doesn't take any more encouragement than that before Morgana is sitting again, bending from the waist to kiss Gwen—deeper, fiercer—while Gwen slips her fingers underneath the beaded hem of the dress.

The hair on Morgana's legs is fine and soft; her skin is softer still, freshly washed and scented, and Gwen takes her time, dancing a teasing touch over Morgana's knees and along the insides of her thighs. Morgana has one hand on Gwen's shoulder, her thumb cutting in just under Gwen's collarbone.

“Gwen...”

“My lady,” Gwen says, turning to press one kiss to Morgana's knuckles before ducking under Morgana's skirts, inhaling deeply. All the perfume in the world couldn't cover this smell: Morgana's own particular scent, heavier now with desire, strange and perfect. Gwen doesn't bother with the niceties. She takes what she wants, fluttering kisses along Morgana's intimate creases, spreading Morgana's lips and sliding her tongue along the hot skin hidden there. Morgana nudges her legs against Gwen's shoulders, but Gwen just loops a hand around Morgana's thigh, moving her fingers in short, calming strokes. 

When Gwen closes her mouth around the sensitive nub and sucks, gently, Morgana gasps. She's never loud when they do this—it's a game Gwen plays with herself, figuring how to get the best noises from Morgana, and each sound she draws out feels like a tiny victory. She doesn't stop: she delves deeper, relishing the wetness on her face as she pushes inside Morgana with tiny licks. Morgana's legs are trembling around her; her breathing is ragged and loud in the stillness of the room. Gwen works her tongue back and forth slowly enough that she knows it's driving Morgana mad. She knows Morgana's eyes will be closed, her lip caught hard between her teeth; she'll have her hands clenched tightly enough that her nails bite into her skin. 

“Gwen,” Morgana says, her voice caught and breaking on a gasp. “Gwen, _please_.”

It's easy—so easy—to slip a finger inside. Morgana is slick, her skin hot against the coolness of Gwen's hand, and Gwen loses herself in this: in the taste of Morgana heavy in her mouth, the feel of Morgana's muscles trembling under her touch; the sound of Morgana quietly falling apart around her—for her.


	2. Group B (warnings)

**24.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** n/a

Arthur sat at his writing desk, watching his servant scrub the floor. Merlin was on his hands and knees, arse in the air and sleeves rolled up, biting his lip as he worked on a particularly rough spot in the chamber. 

Merlin looked over his shoulder at Arthur. “ I feel like a piece of meat under your gaze, Prince Arthur.”

Arthur licked his lips, debating for a moment on whether or not he should simply jump his servant finally because really, it was about time and the boy was basically asking for it. “There is, in fact, something meaty I’d like to eat.” 

Merlin sat back on his haunches, body still faced away. “You seriously want more food? You just ate enough lunch for three men!”

“I didn’t mean food, Merlin,” Arthur said as he rose slowly from his chair, walking over to where Merlin was kneeling. He leaned down slightly, gripping the back of Merlin’s neck firmly and Merlin went rigid and hot underneath his hand. 

“W-what did you want to eat then?” Merlin asked, his voice softer now, losing some of his usual impertinence. 

He leans into whisper against Merlin’s ear. “You.”

Merlin shuddered and tried to turn his head towards Arthur, eyes wide, but Arthur gripped him tighter, forcing his head down. Merlin seemed to panic for a moment before Arthur’s other hand softly stroked down Merlin’s flank, soothing him. His fingers grasped Merlin’s belt, undoing it underneath him and tossed it to the side, pushing Merlin’s shirt up and off as well. 

“Arthur--”

“Shut up,” Arthur chuckled lightly. “Let me enjoy you.” 

Merlin was pink in embarrassment but the shivers displayed his arousal as Arthur’s ran his calloused fingers down Merlin’s back, watching the skin smoothly shift over lithe muscles. Arthur kissed Merlin’s delicate shoulders, fingers and tongue mapping down his spine, watching as Merlin squirmed and gasped beneath him. 

“You’re so pale, Merlin,” Arthur chuckled, pressing his fingers into Merlin’s ribs and sliding his tongue down the knobs of his spine. “So... spindly.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint--”

“Not a disappointment,” Arthur interrupted, tugging at Merlin’s trousers, reaching down to undo the laces and nibbling his shoulder blade. He groaned slightly when he felt Merlin’s cock hardening under his fingers, happy that Merlin was just as aroused as he was at the moment. “You’re quite the opposite-- in this area at least.”

“The area of my body?” Merlin snorted, but his voice was more hesitant that Arthur had ever heard it before. 

“Yes... your body,” Arthur said softly, pulling Merlin’s trousers down to tangle into his boots. “It’s sinful.”

Merlin gasped when his cock was released, shivering harder. Arthur probably should have moved them to the bed by now, but he could barely think with all the pale gorgeous skin-- soft, willowy Merlin-- underneath him. Arthur grasped Merlin’s hips, pressing his thumbs into the indents above his arse and kissed each arsecheek as well. 

Merlin looked over his shoulder at Arthur, his weight on his elbows and Arthur’s breath caught in his chest. Merlin was a rare breed of beautiful, a mix of chiseled sharp features and broad piercing shoulders, hair grown too long and curling around his ears.

He was, in that moment, the most tantalizing thing that Arthur had ever held. Surging forward, Arthur draped across Merlin’s back and crushed his lips against Merlin’s. Merlin moaned into his mouth and his hot slick tongue dove between Arthur’s lips like he had been craving the taste for months. Arthur’s hands were possessive on his sides and Merlin was now rutting his arse back, brushing Arthur’s crotch and it was driving Arthur mad. 

He tore at his trousers, quickly unlacing and pulling out his cock as well. It was already slick with precum and he gasped into Merlin’s mouth as his cock pressed down against Merlin’s arse. Merlin nodded, whimpering slightly and Arthur lowered down, just grinding his cock between Merlin’s arsecheeks, sliding against the small of his back. 

“Arthur-- more--” Merlin whispered frantically, reaching a hand down to stroke his own cock, pushing back against Arthur faster. 

Arthur pushed his cock down to slide between Merlin’s thighs, growling in pleasure as his cock fit perfectly under Merlin’s balls, and felt Merlin sliding his hand down to grasp them both. It was delicious, perfect, unending arousal curling through the back of his spine and-- 

Bliss.

* * *

**25.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin, Percival/Elyan/Gwaine/Lancelot/Leon  
 **Warning(s):** Orgy, voyeurism, rimming  
 **Timeline:** after Lancelot and Merlin rejoin the others in 4x02

It’s the last night he’ll spend alive. But he can’t think about that now. He needs Merlin, pushes his chest against one of the crumbling pillars in the wreckage they shelter under for the night. Merlin clutches the old stone as Arthur’s fingers move inside him, stretch him open. He listens to the soft moans from Merlin’s swollen lips and watches them.

Merlin watches them as well. Arthur’s knights, naked in the low light which the fire throws against them. Lancelot is on his knees, his legs apart, his back against Leon’s chest. Leon presses bruising kisses to Lancelot’s shoulder and moves his fingers inside him, stretches Lancelot open, makes him groan into Gwaine’s mouth. Gwaine kisses Lancelot hard, angles his head so Arthur sees his tongue slide into Lancelot’s mouth. 

Arthur adds a third finger when Leon does, mirrors his movements, feels Merlin shudder against him.

Through the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Elyan and Percival move together. Though he doesn’t know exactly what they’re doing because he can’t look away when Leon’s cock pushes inside Lancelot. He breaks away from Gwaine’s mouth, rolls his head back against Leon’s shoulder, utters a low cry. Leon stills for a moment, lets Lancelot adjust and Gwaine starts to kiss down Lancelot’s neck, along his collarbone, drags his tongue over his nipples.

Gwaine doesn’t look away from Leon when he lowers himself down, runs his tongue achingly slowly up Lancelot’s hard cock.

Merlin moans with Lancelot. Arthur moves his hips slowly, thrusts his cock bit by bit inside Merlin. He buries his nose into his dark hair, breathes the scent of earth and grass which always clings to him. 

Upon approaching the group, Percival kneels behind Gwaine, sticks a thumb up his arse. Gwaine spreads his knees, groans low as he takes most of Lancelot’s cock in his mouth. Arthur moans as he imagines the vibrations which rumble inside Lancelot, make him cry out and writhe as Leon thrusts up inside him.

Percival leans over Gwaine to kiss Lancelot and then speaks quietly to him. Arthur can’t hear what he says, but Lancelot gives a smile and a slight nod before he turns his head to nuzzle Leon’s jawline.

When Percival pushes his cock into Gwaine his thrusts are slow and powerful. Gwaine pushes his hips back against him and moans loudly. The noise vibrates up Lancelot, makes him arch his back, cry out and Leon’s hold around him tightens.

“ _Arthur!_ ” Merlin pushes himself back against Arthur’s cock, rakes his fingernails down the stone pillar. He tries to shift himself and Arthur reaches down to take one of Merlin’s legs. Lifts it, bends the knee and it opens Merlin that bit more. Arthur thrusts into him harder and harder, almost lets himself get lost in Merlin’s desperate calls of his name.

But not lost enough to stop watching. Elyan stands over Gwaine and Lancelot takes his erection into his mouth. Percival roughly pumps one hand up and down Gwaine’s cock, draws the other around Elyan’s waist. Percival’s tongue circles Elyan’s anus a few times before pushing up, just as Leon reaches around Lancelot to tease his fingertips against Elyan’s balls.

As Percival fucks him, Gwaine moans loudly with Lancelot’s cock in his mouth, moves his tongue up and down. That and Leon deep inside him is how Lancelot comes first, keeps his lips around Elyan’s cock as he gives a long low cry. The vibrations thrum inside Elyan, twist up with the sensation of Percival’s pulsating tongue inside him and the way Leon knows just how to touch him. He clutches Lancelot’s hair as he releases into his mouth.

Elyan’s attentions turn to Percival as he and Gwaine finish each other off. When Leon takes his chin to turn his head, Lancelot opens his mouth, let’s Leon’s tongue press against his to take some of Elyan’s essence.

Arthur utters a shaky curse into Merlin’s neck as his body tightens and he presses his face into Merlin’s hair, holds him close and comes inside him.

Merlin tentatively pulls away, turns in the little space Arthur leaves between himself and the pillar. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles, draws his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and presses their spent bodies together to kiss him softly.

Arthur closes his eyes, falls back into that small world where it’s just him and Merlin. The plan to sacrifice himself is bound to come up later so he’ll keep this moment as long as he can.

* * *

**26.**  
 **Pairings:** Uther/Gwen  
 **Warnings:** power imbalance 

Gwen could say that she has no idea why the ghost of Uther Pendragon would hate her enough to try to kill her, but that would be a lie. And as it is, she does lie, just like she has lied by ommission for years. She lets everyone make their assumptions about why Uther might hate her, and they're all very reasonable deductions. 

There is no reason to tell them the truth. The truth is only hers to live with and it will stay that way. 

If it hadn't been for Arthur, she wouldn't have been ashamed of it. She wouldn't have cared who knew. She was young, having a good time with men was something she enjoyed and it wasn't uncommon for the royalty to find pleasure in the commoners who worked for them. 

It was innocent pleasure and festivity. And she was hardly the only one. She had seen and heard her fair share of others, which she had never found problematic. The king was alone, after all, and he never took advantage of those already committed elsewhere. 

She remembers his hands on her hips still, using his tight grip on her skin to pull her back into his rhythm. He would press her down onto the table once everyone had cleared out after a feast, holding her down as he took her hard and fast. She remembers the urgency of it and the pure pleasure of just having someone inside her, someone who knew how to make her moan open mouthed into the still air. 

He was the first man she bedded who didn't fumble, who wasn't over eager. There was a precision to the way he opened her up, thrusting into her until she was gripping at whatever she could reach. 

Sometimes he would speak to her, telling her filthy things about her wrapped around his cock. Sometimes he'd make her talk, making her remember who she was bedding. And the one night he actually took her to bed, she'd screamed herself hoarse as he filled her over and over again, many times until she was limp and exhausted. 

He had never hated her then, but back then she had been in her place. She had known where she belonged and never overstepped her boundaries even if the king occasionally took her for their mutual pleasure. 

He had taken her on the throne once. Her thighs had straddled him as he lowered her down on his cock. He'd reached in and kissed her neck, his lips soft and unexpected on her skin as she felt herself open around him, pulling him in until he could go no longer. 

She controlled them for once, bracing herself against his shoulders as she rode him, hips circling in his lap with his hot breath on her neck. It was good, it was exciting, he was wide and hard inside her in a way that she loved. 

He'd told her then, how lucky she was to sit on the throne. He'd thrust his cock into her, his big hands on her skin, and told her that only a few select people would ever grace the throne of Camelot and this was her one chance - her single opportunity to know what the royal throne felt like. 

He was wrong. 

And that's why he hates her.

* * *

**27.**  
 **No header supplied**

There was so much work to do leading up to the royal wedding that Merlin barely had a chance to catch his breath, much less reflect on how absolutely shitty he felt about the entire situation. From dawn until long past dusk, Arthur had him running ragged. And if Arthur wasn't bossing him around, then it was Gaius sending him hither and yon, or Yorick sending him off to see to something in the kitchen, or a maid from the laundry begging him for assistance. It went on and on. He fell into bed every night, exhausted and numb, too worn out to give the situation much thought. 

But the night before the marital feast, Merlin found himself released from all official duties. Arthur was celebrating with his knights. Gaius had completed his preparations and had gone to bed early. The kitchen fires were burning hot, roasting pigs and venison, and the rooms were prepared for all the guests that would be descending on them in the morning. Merlin, released from the chains of duty, was allowed to wander where he wished, to rest or to drink or, as was the case, hide and sulk. 

Everything was changing. Nothing would ever be the same again. It was one thing to pine for the prince, it was quite another entirely to pine for a married King. He'd still be Arthur's manservant, but things would be forever changed between them. The carefree days were over, and soon Merlin would probably have to marry himself. Soon there would be children. Did Arthur feel this same sense of loss? It was hard to say if Arthur felt anything at all for Merlin anymore. They hadn't seen each other since the announcement of his betrothal. 

Merlin found himself on the battlements, overlooking the lower town. The pub's windows glowed brightly and he could hear the revelry where he stood. Most of that was probably due to Gawain, but the whole town seemed to be starting the celebrations early. Did any of the miss him? It was best to avoid them, he knew. He needed the whole night to work on his fake smile. 

“Why aren't you drinking a toast to your king?” 

Arthur's voice didn't startle him. “I'm saving my toast for tomorrow.” 

“I see.” 

“Why aren't you with your men, sire?” 

“They only needed me to get it started.” He stood to close to Merlin, letting their shoulders touched as he leaned against the battlement. He took a deep breath, like he intended to say something, but exhaled and remained in silence. Merlin leaned his weight into Arthur's body, his eyes traveling over the expanse of the kingdom, to the moonrise. 

“Are you happy for me, Merlin?” 

“Since when do you care if I'm happy for any reason?” He meant it in jest, but it didn't sound like he was jesting. Arthur didn't take it as a jest. 

“I do care about your happiness.” He sounded solemn and confused, like he meant it but he didn't know why. 

“I care about your happiness as well. I'm happy that you are happy.” 

Arthur snorted.  
“What?” 

“You could sound more convincing.” 

“I am. I'll miss it though.” 

“What?”

“You know.” 

Arthur took him by the arm and yanked him around. His grip was tight. Merlin felt it all the way to the bone. His breath caught and he found it very hard to meet Arthur's eyes. So he didn't see it coming when Arthur lowered his head, wasn't prepared for the sudden heat of Arthur's mouth on his, the demanding pressure of his tongue. Merlin naturally parted his lips, though, allowing entrance, returning the caress with as much force as he could muster, his exhaustion forgotten. 

The kiss didn't last for long, but time seemed to stop. Merlin's lips throbbed and his hand went to the back of Arthur's neck, grasping for something to hold onto. Something that would keep him from falling in a light-headed faint. His senses absorbed every detail about the body he knew so well, and the only regret he had was that it would be over so soon. So he kissed like it was their final goodbye and their first greeting. Like it was a promise of a lifetime. A vow for eternity. 

Merlin kissed him so hard, it was all Arthur felt on the day he exchanged his vows. Branded, he felt it every remaining day of his life.

* * *

**28.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Some Episode 3x13 angst?

“He still hasn’t moved. It’s been hours!”

Merlin spoke to Gaius in a loud whisper, his eyes trained on the darkened corner where Arthur sat half hidden by shadows - A grim statue ever since they witnessed Morgause take the crown from Uther’s head and bestow it upon their newly revealed enemy, Morgana. 

“I’m sure you can understand, Merlin, he has a lot to process.”

Merlin frowned, feeling utterly useless. One of Arthur’s hands was pressed into his hair, his shoulders slumped in a way painfully unbefitting of him.

Gaius touched Merlin’s shoulder. “He needs to know he’s not alone.” 

When Merlin finally approached Arthur, Gaius had quietly ushered the others away, leaving the cave unmercifully silent. Merlin kneeled down before the despondent Prince, holding out a bowl in offering.

“It’s rat,” Merlin coaxed, reaching for a joking tone. “Oh believe me, you’ve eaten far worse.”

“-Merlin, for once, leave me in peace… Please.” 

Merlin sighed, placing the bowl down. Whenever Arthur asked to be left alone were the times Merlin knew he most needed company.

“I’ve known her all my life,” Arthur anguished, “How could she do this to us?”

“I can’t answer that, but you have a duty to your father, to your people. You cannot give up on them now.”

“I cannot defeat an immortal army.” Arthur stated the negative with somber, resigned finality that struck Merlin hard. In that bout of silence, Arthur looked up at him with eyes hollowed by hurt, and everything was wrong. “There’s nothing to be done, Merlin. I have nothing. No plan, no forces, no allies to rely on. My father lied to me – about my sister, about my birthright. Morgana’s betrayed me.” He swallowed around a break in his voice. “I have no one.”

“That’s not true. There are still countless people who would give their lives for you, who would do anything to help see you restored.” But Arthur still had that hollow look in his eyes, so Merlin moved to kneel directly in front of him. “You cannot refute the truth of that, when one of them kneels before you right now.”

Merlin took one of the dispirited Prince’s hands between his own, and pressed it over his own heart.

“You still have me. You always will.” 

And even in a soft voice, the oath in his voice brooked no argument.

Arthur’s face crumpled slightly, his fingers tightening against the fabric of Merlin’s shirt. His hand rose quickly to the side of Merlin’s face. 

“Merlin…,” Arthur’s voice came out all splintered and crumpled still, and Merlin instinctively turned his face into Arthur’s hand in attempt to heal it.

Merlin remembered Gaius’ words, as the almost-desperate press of Arthur’s fingers conveyed just how distant from his familiar shore Arthur had been abandoned. Merlin knew it was his duty to bring Arthur back. 

Merlin reached out for more contact, his hand against Arthur’s chest. Arthur gave a soft, thankful shudder of a breath. Despite the instinct that this was right, Merlin’s eyes constantly flickered back to Arthur’s as his hands trailed downwards to undo Arthur’s breeches. Arthur’s eyes were still too far gone to show disapproval. 

Arthur was soft when Merlin bent down to take him between his lips, but that didn’t matter. Merlin sucked softly, slowly taking in more to cradle in his warm mouth. As Arthur grew hard, his noises from above Merlin began to turn from broken things almost of pain – into breathy surrenderings of pleasure. It took a long time with the gentle, non-insistent motions of Merlin’s mouth and the soothing suction of his lips, but eventually Arthur’s sounds peaked into a pure, solid exclamation, finally grounding him in the world he’d lost sight of. His return was greeted by the final overflow of sensations from Merlin’s swallowing mouth. It felt like unquestionable solidarity.

Fingers stroked through Merlin’s hair as Merlin’s tongue carefully cleaned Arthur, before fastening everything closed again and leaning back. His eyes sought Arthur’s timidly.

“You know, Merlin, very occasionally, quite by accident, you say something useful. If I didn’t know you, I’d be completely fooled into thinking you were…,” Arthur’s face shifted from goading into something serious in its fondness. “…wise.”

Merlin shared Arthur’s focused look for a moment, before his impish smile broke into the air. “Me? Nah.”

Merlin stood and extended a hand. Arthur appraised him for a moment, the beginnings of a real smile starting to collect on his face. He seized Merlin’s hand, and rose to his feet.

* * *

**29.**  
 **Pairing(s): Merlin/Will**  
 **Warning(s): food play, stuffing kink**

Will's keen eyes notice Hunith's hands trembling slightly as she rearranges the worn shawl draped across her shoulders. He jabs his bare foot into Merlin's bony one under the cramped table, where they're sitting on short wooden stools enjoying identical bowls of hot potato soup for dinner.

Startled out of his enthusiastic broth-slurping, Merlin drops his spoon and it disappears with a little splash. Before he can retrieve it, he catches sight of Hunith, sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, eyes unseeing. "Mum?" Merlin asks worriedly.

She stands and the smile she gives him is familiar; soft and distant. "Don't worry about me. It's been a long day... I think I'll get some rest. Please tidy up when you're finished." On her way out, she drops a kiss on Merlin's head, smoothing back his dark, wild fringe. "Love you."

"G'night, mum," he murmurs.

"You boys help yourself to dessert," she adds, disappearing into her room.

" _Someone_ already did," Will grumbles under his breath, earning him a well-placed kick to the shins. Earlier, Hunith sent them to pick berries while she made dinner and Merlin ate more berries than he picked, which stained his fingertips an incriminating dark blue.

Will slides the bowl brimming with berries across the table to Merlin.

"Oh no," he laughs, pushing his stool back from the table and patting his stomach. "After all that soup? No way."

Will idly traces the rim of the bowl. "You sure? The Merlin I know would eat whole villages if given the chance." He smirks.

Merlin scowls. "You're confusing me with yourself again."

"Am I? Dare you to eat the whole bloody bowl."

"Seriously?" Merlin scoffs.

Will shrugs. "I'm bored."

"Yeah, but--"

"Yes or no?"

Ever stubborn, Merlin sits back and folds his arms. "Okay, I will, actually. But only if you tell me why you care so much."

"Cause you're so fuckin' skinny!" The lie comes to mind as it leaves his lips and his face heats. "Need some meat on those scrawny-ass bones."

Merlin chuckles "Blackberries are hardly meat, Will," he says, but dips his long fingers into the bowl indulgently, scooping up a few, popping them in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "I've always been a lightweight."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Will mutters.

"Okay, okay, I'm eating, you great ninny!" He chucks a berry at Will's face, but misses wildly. "I swear, you're worse than my mum sometimes."

***

"Shite," Will hisses, drinking in the scene with wide eyes.

The plain tunic that normally hangs loose on Merlin's thin frame now strains with the exaggerated curve of his full belly, making him appear several months pregnant. One of his hands curls gently around his swell, which adda to the effect. Merlin keeps his gaze downturned, but the sweep of his long, sooty lashes against his flushed cheeks only makes Will's heart thud harder.

"Merlin." Will's voice comes out strangely, and still Merlin doesn't acknowledge him. He swallows. "Look at me." 

Slowly, Merlin raises his head, his lovely deep blue eyes smoldering so resentfully that Will can't decide if it's better to bolt and avoid certain death, or stay and drink in as much as he can of Merlin's state.

"Fuckin' lovely like this." The words escape him without thought and he blushes violently and cups his dick, which throbs harder than ever at the innocent confusion registering on Merlin's face. He groans. "You have no idea, do you? I'm so for you hard right now. I'm _wet_ , Merlin, like a bloody _girl_ , do you understand?"

Merlin licks his lips, a predatory gleam dawning in his eyes. "You're such a whore, Will. Making me do this just so you could get off." He pulls his tunic up, baring the pale curve of his belly. "This what you wanted?" Merlin coos, and Will chokes on a cry.

"Thought about this so many times, skinny lil you, feedin' till you're all fat an' full..."

"Put it here," Merlin tells him, fingers playing in the hollow of his belly button.

Will shoves his trousers down without preamble and his cock springs free, flushed and dripping at the tip. Obediently, he presses his sticky cockhead to warm skin, moaning as Merlin reaches back to squeeze and knead his clenched ass.

"You're gonna cum just like this, Will, all over my poor stuffed belly. Please, I'm so full," he whines, "I want you to. Hard."

He can't tell if Merlin really means it, but it doesn't really matter; he's undone.

* * *

**30.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** frottage (IDK if I need to warn for that). Takes place after S4 Ep10 "Herald of a New Age"

Merin had found himself feeling a little jaded lately by castle life; Arthur’s constant manhandling, not to mention his own ever-dwindling hope that magic might one day be accepted in Camelot. After the havoc Elyan had wreaked since being possessed, Merlin expected Arthur becoming increasingly hardened toward magic, and Merlin felt the possibly of ever revealing his true self to the king and kingdom dwindle just a bit more. Instead, the incident had resulted in Arthur entering their sacred space, and promising no further hostilities toward the Druid people.

It had been a quiet journey to Camelot. There was Elyan to take look after, and Arthur seemed lost in his own thoughts. Haunted by his past? Perhaps also having found peace for something that had long grieved him? Arthur’s sincerity, and his willingness to subject himself to whatever punishment the Druids saw fit to levy upon him for his misdeeds had shown the spirit (and Merlin) the compassionate King that Merlin knew was there, in the man he believed would be Camelot’s finest monarch.

He didn’t expect Arthur’s demeanor toward him to have changed any since last night’s events. But Merlin had found within himself a hope he had thought long gone, and couldn’t help but smile as he began his daily chores in Arthur’s chamber, telling him just how moved he was by last night’s events. Merlin had been feeling rather beaten down by his master of late, but today he felt only pride. 

Offering Arthur a hug, Merlin fully expected a smack on the head or a snide comment. Instead, Arthur had tackled him to the floor. Despite Arthur’s constant reminders of how inferior he was physically, Merlin had learned to use his height, sharp elbows and whatever wiry strength he possessed to his advantage. Of course, Arthur *was* the stronger, and better trained, so it wasn’t long before Merlin found himself pinned by the King. Breathing heavily, he looked up at Arthur and realized with dread that his trousers had an undeniable tent in them. 

Feeling embarrassed, Merlin flushed and began to wriggle out toward escape. He was on the verge of revealing one of his two secrets from Arthur, the first being the magic, the second being that his found his king attractive beyond anyone else Merlin had ever laid eyes on. To his great surprise, Arthur said nothing, but instead ground his hips toward Merlin’s revealing a the hardness that had grown in his own breeches.

A hundred thoughts ran through Merlin’s head. Was this just an outlet from the stress of recent events? Gwen's banishment, Elyan’s attempt on Arthur’s life, having emotionally relive what had obviously been one of the darker points of Arthur’s young knighthood, the daily stress of a kingdom on his shoulder...Arthur's sources of stress were many. Was Merlin just a convenient outlet? 

All thoughts of rationalization and the possible inadvisability of _this actually happening_ vanished as Arthur ground down against him again. Gods, but this felt good. He could feel Arthur’s hardness against his own, hot even through both their trousers, and Merlin felt his eyes roll back in his head as the friction increased. He didn’t dare speak, but found himself moving in time with Arthur’s thrusts, quickening the pace. It wasn’t long untilhe felt Arthur go tight tighten as a bowstring. Arthur cast his head back and all Merlin saw was the King’s face, hair light up by the morning sun filtering through the windows brighter than any crown could ever be. 

Merlin was still in the haze of his orgasm but quickly snapped out of it as the enormity of what had just happened hit him. He quickly extracted himself from underneath Arthur, attempting to beat a hasty retreat. 

“Merlin, wait,” Arthur said, getting up from the floor “About what just happened-”

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. I just don’t....” Merlin trailed off, unable to think of a good response to this situation.

“I just want you to know that I value your presence very highly.” Arthur said, eyes fixed squarely on Merlin’s “And that will never change.”

“Thank you. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll always be here, Arthur. I mean it.”

Arthur smiled. “I know. Now go see to your clothes,” he said, gesturing toward the telltale wet spot on Merlin’s trousers “And I expect my breakfast shortly.”

“Of course, sire. I’ll....see it to it.” Merlin said. With that, he left Arthur’s chambers, closing the door behind him. Merlin didn’t know if this was some kind of new beginning between them but he couldn’t help but hope that his dream of a life without secrets was so impossible after all.

* * *

**31.**  
 **Pairing(s): Sefa/Kara**  
 **Warning(s): reference to (canon) minor character death**

She lets out a dry sob when she sees the campfire, comforting voices drifting on the wind, mixing with the smells of cooked meat and herbs.

Kara sees her first. Their eyes lock over the flames, and Sefa stills for a moment. She wants to cry—so relieved and happy to see a beloved face—but all she can manage is a high whimper. She’s emptied her body of all the tears she could shed, leaving a salty trail in the dirt between her father’s dead body and her own, until she was as dry as a field in a drought.

Kara says “Sefa!” in a voice that jars Sefa out of her ache, into the sudden realization of safety, and Sefa lets herself fall in her opened arms, burying her face in Kara’s neck where she smells like earth, herbal soap, and smoke. 

She’s vaguely aware of Kara telling the other Druids that everything’s fine (no it isn’t) that she’ll take care of it (like she always has), guiding Sefa toward the river.

Only when they’re in the shadows of the big oak tree they used to climb as children, with the moon as their light, does Kara let go of Sefa’s wrist and holds her face between her hands, peppering it with kisses, pushing on Sefa’s skin as if to make sure she’s really there, not even trying to hide the trembling of her fingers on her cheeks.

Sefa breathes out slowly. Kara’s warmth seeps into her while she take Sefa’s dress off slowly, the fabric stiff and heavy with dry mud and dirt from when she had to crawl in a swamp, and under uprooted trees, to hide from Camelot’s knights.

The river water’s cool on her bare skin and she shivers. She sits down on the rocky bottom, submerged to the neck, letting the water flow over her to wash away the grit that seems to cling to her like it belongs, like dirty is her new state of being.

Kara’s hands are strong on Sefa’s scalp when she leans back, soaking her hair, tender on the muscles of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone and breasts. Sefa’s fingers find Kara’s naked thigh under the water, and she pushes with her fingertips on the inside, where it’s soft, where she remembers biting once, long ago, and the lovely, happy sound Kara had made at that moment, clenching hard on Sefa’s fingers moving in and out of her body. Sefa pretends she can still feel the teeth marks there. 

They get out of the water and lie down on the grass, Kara’s touch fast and sure over Sefa’s ribs, her mouth wet on her shoulder.

Sefa focuses on that: the way Kara’s fingers are familiar, how they know Sefa’s body by heart, and the soft-hard feeling of her breasts and nipples against hers. She wraps her legs around Kara’s waist, trying to get her closer, into her skin, into that place inside her chest where things are bright, golden, and unbroken, like they used to be.

She’s haunted. Haunted by the ghosts she saw, for the first time, in Mordred’s eyes after his father’s death. The same ones she saw in her own people over and over, but in the Queen’s eyes too. And Merlin’s. Even the King’s. 

Haunted little houses, all of them.

“We heard about your father,” Kara says against Sefa’s ear, her hand hot and heavy between Sefa’s thigh, pushing two fingers inside her while her thumb rubs steady circles on Sefa’s clit that make her moan. She can only make sounds, has no words anymore. “They’ll pay. I swear to all the Gods, Camelot and the Pendragons will pay.”

Her words burn Sefa’s skin. 

She buries her hand into Kara’s hair and Kara nips and licks feverishly at Sefa’s jaw, pumping her fingers in and out of her at an increasing pace, hot and dizzying.

“I’ll kill them all. I’ll—I’ll make them pay for what they did. I swear. I’ll kill them. I’ll—”

Sefa doesn’t really listen, just pushes back with her hips, focusing more on the heat building in her stomach. She thinks of the ghosts inside of her, inside of everyone. She thinks of Merlin’s smile, of the Queen’s gentle hand on hers, of her father’s last words, and she loses herself in all of it—nothing makes sense anymore, and she doesn’t know where or how to stand and look and breathe. 

She comes hard and unexpectedly, staring at the dark space between the stars.

* * *

**32.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Non-con

Morgana smirked as Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and the magic of the Fomorroh took hold over him and he stopped struggling.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Morgana asked. She circled around Merlin, pleased when his posture changed and he went limp against the bindings.

“My lady?” Merlin questioned when Morgana stood in front of him again.

“I missed hearing those words from your sweet lips, Merlin,” Morgana said as she ran her hand down the middle of Merlin’s torso. “How about we get rid of those wet clothes?”

Morgana didn’t wait for an answer she just waved a hand and used her magic to will the clothing to a pile on the floor. Merlin shivered from the sudden chill and Morgana took the opportunity to lightly scrape her nail against one of Merlin’s exposed nipples. She was satisfied when he shivered again and the first bumps of gooseflesh covered his skin. She pinched the nipple and felt it harden between her fingers.

“No, no touching for you. Just stay there and let me take care of you,” Morgana said when Merlin began to struggle against the restraints in a futile attempt to get closer to her. She placed a firm hand on his chest to keep him in place and placed her palm on his cock. Morgana noted that he was already growing hard in her hand and stroked him once before withdrawing completely.

Merlin whimpered and opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when Morgana placed her hand against his mouth.

“Don’t make me gag you, Merlin,” Morgana teased. “At least not yet, I have something special for that later.”

Morgana turned towards her book of spells and flipped the pages until she found what she wanted. She muttered the incantation under her breath and was gratified when the snakes began to flow from the pages.

Snakes of various lengths and sizes slithered their way down the table and towards her captor. Merlin’s eyes were wide and his body tensed when the first snake circled around his ankle and scaled his body easily. Merlin was soon covered with the undulating snakes and he could do nothing but moan at the sensation of being touched everywhere at once.

Morgana’s breath hitched at the sound of Merlin’s moans and her core muscles clenched involuntarily at the sight he presented. Merlin’s eyes were dark with lust and Morgana knew that she’d have to slow things down if she wanted in pleasure of her own.

“Stop,” she commanded the snakes. They ceased their movements but stayed in place. Morgana walked over to Merlin and brought her hand to his cock. The snake instantly wound itself against her own wrist. She brought it to her lips and whispered a few words before letting it wind against Merlin’s leaking cock again. The snakes began to move again but their pace was torturingly slow and Merlin groaned in protest.

Morgana smiled and slid her hand up underneath her dress to press her fingers hard against her clit.

“Fuck,” Merlin managed to gasp out as his eyes swept up and down Morgana’s body in anticipation. One of the snakes slid into Merlin’s mouth and muffled whatever words he was about to say.

“Now,” Morgana commanded and the snakes started to contract against Merlin, squeezing him. Morgana moved her hand lower and pushed two of her fingers up inside her wet cunt. She groaned at the fullness and clenched greedily around them. Merlin’s muffled groan assured her that he was being breached in the same manner, though she couldn’t see the snake that was making it’s way inside him.

She groaned in need as her thumb brushed against her clit and she began to fuck her fingers in and out of her cunt in earnest. Merlin’s muffled grunts of pleasure told her that the snakes were following her own tempo. She wouldn’t last long like this, but she wasn’t worried. There could always be a repeat performance before she returned Merlin to his king.

Morgana crowded up against Merlin and was pleased when the snake wrapped around his cock guided him into her. The snake that was gagging him moved out of the way as Morgana leaned forward to capture Merlin’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

It was over in that moment. Morgana’s control shattered and she moaned uncontrollably as they climaxed together.

* * *

**33.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

As soon as Lance and him join the others on the Isle of the Blessed, all the knights, and Arthur in his own way, tell him how glad they are to have him back. They gather in a circle around the fire camp, but the atmosphere is tense, nothing to do with the usual chatter; Gwaine’s adventures, Percy’s jokes, and Leon’s boring prattle that always lulls them all to sleep. There’s nothing of that tonight, the only sound gracing their ears are the cracking of the fire, the hissing of the air as it twirls around them and some distant birds and crows as they sing and howl. 

The knowledge of what is to happen weights upon them, and the knights retire earlier than Merlin has ever seen, huddling close to the fire and turning their backs on Merlin and Arthur, who stay awake to talk in hushed voices about what’s going to happen when they are face to face with the gatekeeper. 

“I’ll take your place,” Merlin tells Arthur when Arthur talks about the sacrifice. It’s the right thing to do, what he’s supposed to do, his duty, his destiny. He’d give his life for Arthur once and again because Arthur is everything to him.

But Arthur shakes his head, says Merlin’s name in that tone that makes his heart squeeze with a wave of emotions, and Merlin is even more convinced that he has to do this. 

When Merlin whispers that he’s going to sleep he stands up and steps over the fallen trunk he had been leaning against as carefully as he can, so as not to wake up the knights, but as he sits down on the hard ground at Arthur’s feet, Arthur grabs Merlin’s arm. Merlin turns his head around to look at him, a question in his eyes. _Is there something you need?_ , Merlin looks back at him with intent.

 _No, I only need you_ , Arthur’s eyes speak to him, but Merlin pushes it all aside, squirming under the heat of Arthur’s gaze as he continues holding his arm and looking at him silently. 

When Arthur tugs at him and presses their lips together, Merlin understand what Arthur is asking for. And he gives in. He knows Arthur is doing this because he believes he’s not going to make it past tomorrow, that he will give himself to the spirit world, but Merlin is the one who truly knows that won’t happen because he will be the one to cross the veil. He’ll leave Arthur unconscious if he has to only so he ensures Arthur doesn’t try to stop him when he offers himself in his place

So this is goodbye for them. Arthur kisses him hungrily in his own way to say _, and Merlin in turn caresses Arthur’s body to convey all the things he’s always told Arthur; that he’ll be the best King history has ever known, that he has faith in him and that it’ll be an honour to gives his life for him._

Neither says it out loud, but Merlin knows it’s there. One of them won’t be back in Camelot by tomorrow, so tonight feels like the best moment to open up and do everything that they have suppressed in the years they’ve known each other. 

When Arthur lies him down and settles on top of him, hitching his hips with need against him and leaving wet kisses all over Merlin’s face and throat, Merlin thinks a silent spell to muffle all the noises they can make and to drive the knights to a deeper sleep. He doesn’t want their friends finding out what they are up to, this is theirs and only theirs and Merlin wants to enjoy without worrying. Arthur seems to barely be aware that there are other people, he’s so desperate with need that Merlin’s body flares and he forgets. 

They bring each other off like that, just rutting like animals and touching and grasping arms and faces and hips, and breathing too harsh to awake even the dead spirits in the other side of the veil.

When Arthur meets his eyes as his orgasm fades, Merlin heart aches. Whatever happens tomorrow, Merlin will have this moment, and the knowledge that the man he loves will be safe.

* * *

**34.**  
 **Pairings:** Gwen/Lancelot, Gwen/Arthur, Gwen/Leon  
 **Warnings:** canon character deaths

Lancelot looks at her, beautiful brown curls and big, anxious, brown eyes. He loves her, but to him that's always been clear. He truly will never love another the way he loves her; he is about to die. 

But she isn't, and Lancelot sees the way Arthur looks at her, the way even Leon and Gwaine do when they think no one is looking.

Gwen will love again. It is all right. She deserves that.

-

Gwen means it when she tells him, "I will never love another the way I love you."

When Arthur asks her to marry him, she says yes to another man. When he fucks her their first night together, her hair wild as he pushes deep into her, her hands and knees hold up a different body. She screams Arthur's name, but her heart aches for another.

She lets herself go, gets carried away with the way the cock inside her feels. If she closes her eyes hard enough it's almost as if Lance is the one whispering to her. It's almost him slipping fingers between her thighs and bringing her off.

Almost.

-

She dreams of him often, rarely speaks his name because it's the only thing she has left of him. She dreams his smile, the way his brown eyes loved her, how his hand felt when he held her. She closes her eyes and sees his brown hair, hears the way his voice always softened when he spoke to her.

She loves Arthur, she does. 

But when Lancelot walks back into Camelot, Gwen knows she can never love Arthur the same way. And it saddens her, because Arthur deserves more, but she can't. 

Her heart cannot hold that much.

-

Lancelot's memories have not done Gwen justice. She is resplendent in the light of the throne room. He aches from wanting to touch her, to press his face into her curls, and hold her close. She won't look away, and Lance can't even though he knows Arthur will wonder.

He waits, watches how Gwen moves with Arthur, how their hands brush together. It hurts, more than Lance thought it would, to see how she loves another. 

Gwen is the one who sends him the note. 

He's in the empty throne room five minutes later.

She comes in half an hour later, her purple dress rustling against the stone floor. Lance forgets that he is no longer allowed in her life. He has to touch her, to feel her cheek against his hand. He moves, a step, and then she's running to him, and how could he have ever thought that she might not love him?

"Lance," she whispers. "I thought you were dead."

"No," he says, his forehead pressed to hers. "No. Never."

-

Lance takes so long to kiss her. He runs his hands into her hair, breathes her in, and whispers things into her ear. Gwen closes her eyes and memorizes the sound of Lance's voice, the warmth of his hands. Her heart is aching, her whole body trembling so hard it takes her a while to realize that Lance is trembling too.

"I love you," they say together.

It's their first kiss, brusing and breaking them even as it makes them whole. Gwen wants to cry from how well they fit, from how _right_ they feel.

-

"I am so sorry," she tells Arthur later, but she isn't. 

She could never be sorry for the way she loves Lancelot, so easy, so soft.

-

When she comes back to Camelot and to Arthur, she has lost Lancelot twice. She no longer feels anything but rough fucks against tables. Sometimes, when Arthur's too blond hair and his loving smiles are too much, she goes to Leon, lets him slide between her legs and run his tongue between her thighs. She tangles her fingers in his curls, pets him and murmurs his name, because he's gentle, so so gentle.

She likes to think that Lance would have been gentle to her too.

* * *

**35.**  
 **Pairing(s):** implied and unrequited Merlin/Arthur, Merlin/OFC  
 **Warning(s):** Infidelity (this takes place during S5 canon so Arthur is married to Gwen)

“Why won’t you admit you have a girl? Gwen already told me.”

“Because,” Merlin says, “I don’t.”

Arthur snorts. 

\---

“Tell me about her.”

“Who?”

“The girl,” Arthur says. “Is she pretty?”

“Drop it.”

“So she’s not, then.” 

Merlin storms out. 

\---

“Where’d you meet her?”

They’re in Arthur’s chambers. The tankard of wine between them has emptied steadily since supper. Merlin’s let down his guard; Arthur chose the moment purposely. Arthur watches as it takes a moment for the words to filter through the wine-fog in Merlin’s brain.

“Why do you care?”

Arthur doesn’t want to think about why this has been bothering him, so he latches on to the obvious. “I don’t like secrets between us.”

“I’m not keeping anything from you.” The guilty dart of Merlin’s eyes says differently.

“Merlin...”

“Ugh! Fine.” Merlin pours them each another glass. “Her name is... Fran.”

Arthur thinks maybe Merlin’s lying. Like he’s just come up with that now, but the alcohol they’ve consumed makes it hard to tell, and Merlin’s got no reason to lie.

“She’s a servant in a neighbouring village. We met one afternoon when I was gathering herbs for Gaius in the Darkling woods.”

“Very romantic. You were probably covered in dirt and sweat.”

Merlin smiles for a moment, giving Arthur a soft look. “I was. And so was she. We didn’t care. We walked together, talking of herbs and rare plants -- nothing _you_ would be interested in -- until we came upon a stream.”

“I know the one.” He and Merlin often stopped there when they travelled through that area. It is, indeed, a beautiful place for falling in love. Arthur’s heart clenches, inexplicably.

“Yes, you do.” Merlin’s eyes fall to his cup.

Arthur wonders if the story might end here. He isn’t quite ready for it to stop though, so he kicks Merlin beneath the table. “Don’t tell me that’s it? You let your love walk away?”

Merlin smirks and shakes his head. “We laughed and joked like old friends while we filled our water bags. Then, as she leaned too far forward, her shirt got wet.”

“Oh.”

“It clung to her chest. It was distracting. And I -- I fell in.”

“You what?”

“I fell in!” Merlin says, almost coy. “You know me.” 

Arthur remembers Merlin in that same stream, the bright sunlight shining off his wet face. It was a little more than a year ago.

“Fran grabbed my hand, giggling to bursting. The next thing I knew we were both in the stream.”

“You’re an idiot.” Which was exactly why Arthur hadn’t offered to help Merlin that day. He’d laughed and watched while Merlin found his way back to the riverbank. 

“She didn’t think so, I guess, because she kissed me.” 

Arthur swallows; he’s had too much wine, it seems. It’s turning sour in his stomach. 

“We sat in the cold stream and kissed until we were shivering.” Merlin’s eyes never leave his, ensuring Arthur’s catching every word. 

“You’re both fools then.” Arthur’s voice sounds off.

“When we got out, we stripped down, laid our clothes out on the rocks.” 

“Merlin!” Arthur gasps, pulse racing. 

Merlin shrugs. “We were caught up in the moment.” 

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. His cock’s pushing against his laces as his imagination soars. 

“Too much?” There’s a challenge in Merlin’s voice. Amusement. 

Arthur huffs. “Go on.”

“I tasted her that day.” Merlin takes a sip of wine, eyes closed. “I put my face between her legs, Arthur.” The look he gives Arthur is piercing. “I worshipped her with my mouth until her body arched like a bow. Her cries set the sparrows fleeing from the trees.”

Beneath the table Arthur presses his palm to his cock, rubbing as discreetly as he can. 

“Once she was sated and dripping between her thighs, I took my own pleasure. Oh, Arthur, she was so hot, tight and slippery. I held her hips and she met my every thrust with a wanton moan.”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it only makes the image clearer: Merlin’s pale skin, shimmering with sweat, rolling his hips over and over. It isn’t a faceless woman Arthur saw in his mind. His eyes snap open, ashamed.

Merlin’s flushed, eyes burning with want as he watches Arthur’s reactions like he knows exactly what Arthur’s thinking. 

Merlin’s fingers close on Arthur’s wrist, squeezing. “We rutted like animals, Arthur, there on the forest floor.”

Arthur paints his breeches until they’re sodden with his come.

* * *

**36.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** jealousy, minor physical altercation

During the first stretch of spring, everybody in Camelot takes ill at once.

Merlin helps Gaius with deliveries, and herb gathering, until the job is foisted on some daughter of a kitchen maid, which Merlin rambles at Arthur while polishing his boots with an undercurrent of resentment or whatever it is he thinks he’s entitled to. But he’s Arthur’s manservant, and Arthur has need of him, and when the girl is needed elsewhere and Gaius takes on a new apprentice, it isn’t Arthur’s fault that Merlin has to give up half his bedroom.

“This is your fault,” Merlin says, dropping Arthur’s lunch tray hard enough that a few grapes bounce up and then roll to the floor. “Do you know what Audric’s done now?”

Arthur spears a piece of ham and gives Merlin an agreeable smile. “I don’t particularly care.”

“He’s moved my bed!”

“Has he.”

“My bed!” Merlin flops into the chair across from Arthur, harassed. “He’s pushed it against the wall and took the best part of the room for himself!”

Earlier in the week, it’d been that he’d done a disproportionate job of dividing up Merlin’s wardrobe. Then, that he’d shoved Merlin’s books to the floor to make room for his own. Then it was that he liked the window open at night. He snored. He rustled in his sleep. He’d stolen one of Merlin’s pillows, and Arthur lets all of this pass into one ear and out the other, from this week and into the next, because Merlin probably deserves the little weasel.

So it’s a surprise, one day, when Merlin is twenty minutes late for the third time in a row and Arthur has to go and fetch him himself, that he finds him, heads pressed close together, with some sturdy blond man, smiling at him, giving a laugh at whatever the man says as Arthur stands there in the doorway, looking between them, drawing his brows into a frown.

***

“Ow! Arthur! Stop it!”

Arthur pulls his blow with an irritated heave of a sigh, moves his shoulders in restless circles. “What is it?” he says.

Merlin wrenches off his helmet, pushes himself to his feet. “Are you attempting to kill me?”

“I’m attempting to train,” Arthur says. “Put the helmet back on and raise your shield.”

Merlin drops the shield to the grass. “Not if you’re trying to take my head off,” he says, and drops the helmet as well. “I don’t know what your problem is, but hell if I’ll stay here and be chopped to bits because of it.”

And as he he starts to pull at the straps of his armor, Arthur feels his hands start to shake. “Don’t touch it,” he says through his teeth. “Pick up the shield, put on the helmet, and face me.”

Merlin doesn’t even spare him a glance. Drops a vambrace.

“Merlin, I’m ordering you.”

Another vambrace falls, and before Arthur has even fully thought it, he’s rushing at Merlin, roughing him down to the ground, pulling at straps himself.

“Fine,” he spits, ripping at the leather. “You can go, and you can - settle yourself right - in the stocks.”

Merlin tries to flail under him. “Arthur!” he shouts. “Stop - what -”

“And maybe,” Arthur goes on, avoiding Merlin’s arms and snapping one old buckle free, “Audric will - bring you a towel before you - head off to the stables. Perhaps the two of you can - muck them out together.”

“ _What are you talking about?_ ” Merlin hisses. “Audric? What does he even -” And with a surprising amount of strength, he manages to flip himself, left side of his face grass-stained, and he looks even angrier than he did before.

Most of Merlin’s armor is done away with, but Arthur doesn’t stop in his manhandling.

“Get off me!” Merlin grunts. He bucks his hips up, violent.

Arthur doesn’t. Just tries getting Merlin’s pauldron over his head. Doesn’t even know why anymore.

“I’m not your thing, Arthur!” Merlin shouts at him. “You can’t just - 

And then Arthur kisses him, hard, and Merlin goes entirely still.

“What...?” he says when Arthur pulls away, but then Arthur dives for his mouth again, because he doesn’t - 

He doesn’t want to talk. And Merlin’s mouth is hot, and then his tongue is hotter, and he buries his hands in his hair.

Even though the hurry of it, the quickness, Arthur hears Merlin swallow, and he grinds his hips down in time with Merlin’s pushing up, and it’s a good thing they’re out here near the trees, under their cover, when they manage to get the rest of Merlin’s armor off, slicking against each other in the sun.

* * *

**37.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

The first time it happens they don’t even like each other very much. Merlin still thinks Arthur is a bit of an ungrateful prat, destiny or no destiny. They both are riding the high from defeating Valiant, Arthur on the field of the tournament and Merlin using magic that could get him killed to save Arthur’s life. 

They get a moment to themselves in the tent afterwards. Merlin trying to find his way around his new role of being Arthur’s servant. 

Merlin still hasn’t gotten used to undressing Arthur. He doesn’t know how to stop his hands from lingering when they should be deft and professional. Arthur doesn’t reprimand him for it though, his body turning into Merlin’s touch. 

Merlin still doesn’t know if he likes Arthur very much. He doesn’t like the person he meet his first day of Camelot, but even he knows he shouldn’t be too quick to judge a person. It’s not like he’s never acted like an arse before. 

He may not like Arthur very much yet but he’s not blind. The Prince of Camelot is attractive and Merlin’s always been a bit free with his affections.

So when his hand curves around Arthur’s hip to reach the tie on his trousers and Arthur gives him a knowing look Merlin doesn’t feel like he’s being too forward when he goes to his knees. Arthur just leans back against the wall as he undoes him, slipping his cock out. There is sheen on sweat on his skin from the tournament and bruises darkening from where he was hit. 

Merlin leans forward to take the head of his cock in his mouth and he tastes him, tongue tracing a vein on the underside.

He’s surprised when Arthur’s hand finds its way to his hair, and instead of pulling gently grips him, helping Merlin set a slow pace. Arthur’s gloves are on the floor and his fingers card through Merlin’s hair like this is something they have time to indulge in, like there aren’t his knights and people waiting for him to emerge to congratulate him.

The pace stays slow as Merlin explores him, his own erection straining against his trousers as he brings Arthur shakes apart in his mouth. He shallows him down and the smile on Arthur’s face is soft as he pulls back and looks up at him.

“Thank you.” there’s no trace of mockery or malice and Merlin returns his smile.

“My pleasure Sire.”

~*~*~*~*~

It’s the first time it happens but not the last. It’s a habit that they fall into that neither talks about. More frequently they start to seek pleasure and comfort in each other. When Mordred espaces, after Gwen’s father is executed, after Nimueh.

Merlin can’t pinpoint when he started caring about Arthur, when his touches turned from curiosity and attraction to something deeper, actual caring. He spends less and less time in his room at night and more in Arthur’s. When he goes on hunts with him they always sleep close together. 

It’s after the last Dragonlord is killed and Merlin loses a father he never really knew that he realizes he’s not the only one who has changed. He sees the way Arthur watches him with concern, the way he pulls him in closer against him.

He takes comfort in the way Arthur’s arms wrap around him and let’s himself feel.

* * *

**38.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** NA

It had started as a normal day for them, well, as normal as life can be for the crown prince and his manservant. Relaxing hunting trip turned bandit attack - nothing they couldn't handle. Save for the part where Arthur didn't have any of his armour with him and it was two against ten. As Arthur lunged and parried against his foes, Merlin stood a little ways off on a rock, merrily dropping branches and levitating frying pans to smite his enemies. Perhaps smite was a little bit of an exaggeration, as he was at most giving them concussions, but he was having fun with it. No snakes coming out of shields, no Griffins or Questing Beasts charging them down, just a cut and dry sword fight of the non-magical variety. 

Merlin was so relaxed with the apparent ease of the fight that he didn't notice the last bandit lining up his shot several paces away. It wasn't until Arthur bellowed out his name that he turned and watched the bolt fly out of the crossbow, straight at his face. With the blink of an eye, Merlin easily deflected the bolt back at his attacker, but before he could check to make sure the bolt had found its mark he found himself being hauled down from his rock without warning. With his terrible sense of balance and plain dumb luck, his mouth crashed into Arthur's and they tumbled to the ground.

'I'm sorry Sire,' he said, belatedly rolling off of him, 'I didn't mean for that to happen.'

Arthur rolled up onto his knees and began inspecting Merlin, yanking at his clothes. 'You're such an idiot Merlin, how did you not notice the man taking aim at your head?'

Merlin tried to bat his hands away to little success. 'Honestly Arthur, I'm alright, I'm-" His next words died in his throat as he took in Arthur's face, eyes a little wild and cheeks flushed from more than just adrenaline. He let his gaze trail downwards and found Arthur's cock tenting his breeches, his relentless grabbing and pawing at Merlin suddenly making sense.

'Are you-, do you get off on this?' he asked suddenly.

Arthur's hands froze but he didn't look away.

'Do you get off on saving me?' he asked again. 'Because you can you know.'

'Can what?' Arthur's eyes narrowed.

'Get off on me,' Merlin muttered, blushing furiously because the words had sounded better in his head and this wasn't exactly the way he had imagined revealing his feelings for Arthur. He was saved from further mortification when Arthur pounced on him, fisting two hands in his jacket and hauling him up for a kiss. It was messy and hot and everything Merlin had ever hoped it would be when Arthur stopped and pushed him down onto the forest floor and ground down on him.

'Always in trouble all the time Merlin, do you know how frustrating it is?' Arthur was panting above him and Merlin groaned as Arthur ground their erections together. 'Watching you with your big wide eyes, all flushed when we escape. Are you doing it on _purpose_?' Arthur enforced his question with a roll of his hips that made Merlin shudder. He tried to sit up to get another kiss but Arthur held him down.

'No time,' he gasped, his thrusts becoming erratic. 'Must you always wear so many layers? Who needs a neckerchief in the summer?'

Merlin tried to respond but his answer came out in a series of needy moans that made Arthur lick his lips.

'Next time, we'll do this properly in my bed. We'll bar the door and I'll open you up with my tongue for hours until you're begging for me to be inside you,' Arthur grunted, thrusting even harder. 'Just when you think you can't wait any longer I'll oil up and drive into you. We'll have to make sure you're face first in the pillows though, otherwise the whole castle will hear you moaning my name.' Merlin's eyes rolled back in his head and he came with a startled gasp, his breath hitching and nonsense words rolling off his tongue. Arthur gave a few more thrusts before he groaned and stilled over top of him. They stayed like that for a moment before Arthur grabbed him by his shirt front once more and forced him to stand.

'Come on then Merlin, these trousers need washing before we go back to Camelot.'

* * *

**39.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Elena/Vivian  
 **Warning(s):** N/A

When princesses of neighbouring kingdoms are of a similar age, they tend to spend a lot of time together – though it takes them years to realise that this is not because their parents recognise how close friends they are but because their parents are sizing up the competition. And so it was that Elena and Vivian grew up together.

They were never overly similar as children, but having bonded over being the only girls of their age and status in the surrounding area, they ended up being a good – though some people would have said bad – influence on each other. Between them they created a kind of balance – clumsy and elegant, passionate and guarded, adventurous and ambitious.

Even as they grew up and saw each other less, they kept in constant touch – writing letters and waiting impatiently for the reply. So when, having returned from Camelot, Vivian stopped writing, Elena worried. When, after two months, she received a letter from Vivian’s mother inviting her to visit, she nearly panicked – Vivian’s father had always liked her (after all, if she spent time with Elena she wasn’t spending time with boys), but her mother had never approved, so the invitation meant something must be wrong.

When Elena gets there and spends the first afternoon walking the grounds with Vivian, she can’t figure out what’s wrong. Vivian is perfectly cordial, but that’s the problem – they’ve never been just cordial. Their conversations are lacking passion, piss-taking, the underlying tension that somehow feels like home. And to top it all off, Vivian won’t stop talking about Arthur.

After three days of the same thing, Elena can’t face it anymore and decides to leave the following day. Following the evening’s banquet, Vivian’s mother takes her aside.

“I’m really sorry” she says, “we don’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s changed completely since she got back from Camelot. We were hoping that having you around would help, because – well. Her maidservant said she overheard Vivian saying your name in her sleep a couple of times. But I guess not.”

Elena thanks her for her hospitality and retires to the guest quarters. Having prepared for bed, she finds that she can’t get to sleep, so gets up and wanders down the corridor. She and Vivian used to sleep over in one another’s rooms – sometimes one another’s beds. She is trying to remove those memories from her head as she hears a noise from the direction of Vivian’s quarters. She moves closer and finds that it is her own name being spoken.

She presses her way inside the room, unable to take her eyes off the body in the bed. Vivian is wearing nothing other than a thin white slip, and is repeating Elena’s name in a slow, quiet voice. Elena moves over to the bed and, before she can stop herself, presses her lips to Vivian’s. The brief kiss is an apology, a goodbye, a declaration of love. But Vivian’s eyes open.

Elena swears under her breath and turns to leave, but Vivian shakes her head as if to clear it and says “Elena” with such wonder, such heart that she can’t bear to take another step.

“Kiss me again.”

Elena does, and devotes the rest of her night to making Vivian say her name again and again, full of fingers and tongue, covered in lips and teeth and scratches, surrounded by love.

(Later, Vivian takes the piss out of Elena for having lips that can break spells. Elena takes the piss out of Vivian for needing it in the first place. Things are back to normal.)

* * *

**40.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** the practice of unsafe ~~sex~~ spell casting

"Uh-oh," Merlin said.

*

He hadn't realized what the spell would do until he'd already cast it – which, honestly, he should know better by now.

Turns out, walking around with a constant hard-on is not only humiliating but also quite painful. Even if he did manage to find another little spell to keep anyone from noticing.

*

"Aaaargh," Merlin said, gripping his hair with one hand. His other moved quickly over his cock, oil slicking his movements. He grunted, eyes fluttering closed as his hips hitched up, heat coiling low in his abdomen.

When he finally came, Merlin relaxed into his tiny bed and groaned.

And then he whimpered, his cock twitching into hardness once again.

*

After five days, Merlin had almost reached the point where he could ignore his aching cock, the way it hung heavy between his legs and brushed against the soft cotton of his pants, sending shivers down his spine.

Almost.

*

"You look like hell," Arthur said on day seven, eyeing him over his dinner plates.

Merlin gave him a wan smile. "Just not sleeping well, Sire."

Which was true. Between his cock and his increasingly desperate attempts to find a counter-spell, Merlin was getting maybe three hours of sleep per night.

"Hm," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes as he picked up his wine goblet.

Merlin stammered out something about polishing Arthur's sword, winced at the wording, and escaped.

*

Arthur continued to give him odd looks, and Merlin continued to ignore them.

His cock continued to ache.

*

"Bloody fucking –" Merlin gasped, hand flying over his cock.

His back arched as he came, painting the stone wall of the alcove he was hiding in. After he caught his breath, Merlin waved his hand at the mess he'd made and it disappeared.

His cock was already hard again, and he sighed, redoing his trousers and adjusting his tunic. He grabbed Arthur's breakfast tray from where it was hovering in midair and ducked from his hiding spot, gait only slightly awkward as he made his way to Arthur's chambers.

*

"You've been acting quite strange lately." Arthur paused. "Stranger than usual, I mean."

"I'm fine," Merlin said, voice flat, and scowled down at the shiny piece of armour he was polishing.

Arthur made an irritated noise and stomped from the room.

*

He shouldn't do this. He _really_ shouldn't do this.

It was wrong.

It was creepy.

It was a violation.

It was –

Merlin swore and crawled onto Arthur's bed, squirming around in the sheets and burying his head under one of the pillows. He pulled his cock out and spit in his hand, stripping it none-too-gently, breathing in the scent of Arthur as he did.

He came all over Arthur's sheets, groaning long and low, and then flushed hotly. A wave of his hand cleaned everything up, and Merlin booked it out of there as fast as he could with a still-hard cock.

*

Two weeks.

Merlin wanted to cry.

*

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Arthur yelled, clearly frustrated as he crowded Merlin back against the wall.

Merlin let out a strangled noise and yelled back, without thinking, "I've got a bloody erection that won't fucking go away, no matter how many times I wank!"

His eyes went wide and he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Arthur stared at him, blinked, and blinked again. And then a wicked, _wicked_ smirk twisted his mouth upwards.

"Is that so?"

Merlin groaned, and buried his face his hands. "Oh god."

And suddenly there were fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists, pulling his hands away. Arthur was a lot closer than he had been a moment ago, and oh, now they were kissing. Merlin groaned again and opened his mouth, allowing Arthur to lick his way inside, and gasped as Arthur ground their hips together.

He wasn't the only one who was hard.

"Fuck," Arthur breathed. "Can I – will you let me –"

"Yes," Merlin said. "Anything."

*

Merlin's face was pressed against Arthur's bed, his ass in the air as Arthur fucked into him relentlessly. He held Merlin's wrists tightly, trapping them against the bed, and snapped his hips in a ruthless rhythm, his cock stretching Merlin wide open.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," Merlin moaned, spreading his knees as wide as they would go and canting his hips back to take Arthur deeper.

Merlin came – for the third time – and Arthur's hips stuttered as he pressed in, filling Merlin with his own hot come.

Best spell _ever_.

* * *

**41.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Uther/Mithian  
 **Warning(s):** None

“Lady Mithian.” One of the two guards remaining in the castle stood at attention in the doorway. “The riders from Camelot approach.”

“Thank you.” Mithian rose from her father’s throne. “Is everything prepared for dinner?”

The steward, thankfully one of the few men too grizzled for either battle or harvest, stepped forward and bowed. “My lady, King Uther and his people shall notice nothing amiss—save the absence of your good father, of course.”

Mithian looked around at the courtiers left to her after her father had ridden out to claim Gedref out from under Camelot’s nose. She doubted there was any way Uther wouldn’t notice something amiss. It would be her job to distract him enough that he didn’t figure out what it was.

***

“So few of them,” Mithian murmured as the party from Camelot cantered into the courtyard. They were a small band of senior knights clustered around a central rider who must be—

Yes, from the iron circling his brow, that must be Uther Pendragon. He dismounted and moved toward her. When their eyes met, her breath caught in her throat, for Uther Pendragon was nothing she had expected.

Her father was still an active, vital man, but Uther was virile in body and presence in a way Rodor had long lost. He strode toward the castle as though taking possession of it, and Mithian descended to meet him. 

“My lord Uther,” she said when he stood before her. She remained a few steps above him, trying to retain her presence of mind. “It gives me great pleasure to welcome you to Nemeth.”

He accepted her outstretched hand and raised it to his lips. She felt the touch of them up into her wrist, an inconvenient shock of womanhood. “Lady Mithian. The pleasure is all mine.”

***

“I apologize for the lack of proper company,” she said over dinner. “Every able-bodied soul was needed for the harvest after my father took so many men to deal with the incursion at the northern border.”

“My son also sends his regrets. I fear he is also dealing with an incursion on our border.” She had forgotten the younger Pendragon and the talk of betrothals. She forgot him again when Uther took a sip of wine and smiled. “But at the same time, I’m afraid I cannot regret the present company at all.”

***

He put his gloved hand over hers to guide the knife through the deer’s hide. She allowed it, though she had been skinning her own kills since childhood. She allowed it because a pleasant tremor went through her arm at his touch; he smiled when he felt it.

“Pardon my boldness, my lady,” he said. “It’s easy to forget you are not accustomed to the touch of men.”

Mithian raised her eyes to his and let her lips curl with sweetness. “No pardon necessary, my lord. I have always been a quick study.”

He roared with laughter and pressed her fingers harder. “You have a rare spirit, my dear. I must make sure that the right Pendragon takes you to wife.”

***

She laughed as they strolled down the dark corridor. "My lord, I'm afraid to bore you with a third day of hunting."

"You'll find I'm a most avid hunter." Uther's eyes crinkled as he stopped before his chamber door. "And it seems I must hunt for my manservant."

"Leave him to his rest." She spoke without needing to think; her mind had already agreed to the decision her body had made when first they met. "I can serve you tonight."

He met her eyes for a long moment, and then nodded.

***

Her hands may have trembled, but they were sure against his body as she helped him shed his coat and tabard. In turn, his hands were sure as they slipped under her dress. 

He paused at the point of her maidenhead and bent to kiss her as he pushed through it. She cried out into his mouth, then tightened her legs around him. He maddened her: the bulk of him over her, inside her, and soon under her as she worked herself toward the relief of her tension. She found it at last with her fingers over the spot where his prick speared her.

Dizzy with the pulses of release, she stretched out over his chest. "Take your pleasure of me, my lord," she murmured. "I am spent."

With a groan, he put her on her back and drove into her until warmth spread into her belly. She felt his absence when he withdrew and kissed her.

"Rodor may well take Gedref if Arthur doesn't claim it first." His fingers stroked her stomach. "But I have stolen his greatest treasure."

She startled, then laughed. "And I have made my first conquest."

* * *

**42.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

Each year, it gets harder.

They say time heals all wounds. But his absence isn't a wound; it isn't so neat, so easily sutured.

It's more like an ache. Like the ache you get every month, every month as the moon wanes. Only, in this the waning has to do with Merlin, and Leon, and the nights you nearly collapse into bed after standing strong for a seemingly endless parade of ragged, weary, life-torn people, all of whom you want to help, and very few of whom you actually can.

He used to rub your shoulders, on these days. Your feet, sometimes.

The bed feels huge without him, and always will, but this night, the year count, is always worse. You roll over to his side, clutching at the pillow that has long since lost his scent, and close your eyes on the tears that threaten.

Sleep comes slowly, but thoroughly.

\---

His shape, his beloved shape, fits just right against your back just as it always did, warm and whole and perfect. The tears spill out, now, but his hands are there to brush them off your face, his lips following after with kisses and murmured words. "I'm here, love. I'm here."

You feel the smile tug on your lips, the dichotomy of the emotions coursing through you awakening your very cells in a way that only he can. His hands slide up your belly—which is different, now, not with child but still with time, the inevitability of time—and to your breasts, a fond caress that douses your fears and spurs you to turn, tuck one leg over his strong thigh and kiss him. He tastes of all the things you remember—heat and sweat and wine and mint and _Arthur_.

Beloved.

His hands are under your shift, now, where they belong, rough-skinned but gentle, so gentle with touches, until he's catalogued your whole body again, and again, each caress a lit flame in your belly, a rolling, roiling heat along your skin. His mouth finds your breast and your fingers weave through his hair, keeping him there until you can't stand it, until you feel like he has to stop or you'll just explode, into little pieces of sparkling dark ash against the cream-coloured sheets.

So you pull him up, search out his lips with yours, and roll him onto you, the weight heavy and welcome. So welcome.

When he slips inside you, curls into you until you're as connected as two people can be, it's almost an afterthought. The last click of the tumblers as you lock together.

Always.

\---

You wake up the next morning clutching at cold, sweat-soaked sheets. Alone, always alone, and you wish so hard, as you did when you were a child, that you could just stay in bed all morning. Like you used to do with him, on lazy winter days when he would bar the door and send the servants away and let you warm your hands on his skin, until you both were warm enough for days.

But never mind. The anniversary is over. The past is done. The last queen of Camelot must not falter.

And will not.

* * *

**43.**  
 **No header provided**

It was the coldness in her eyes that told him that he was dead if he refused her. She never took no for an answer before—the lady was stubborn and willful to a fault—not that he didn’t like that in a woman. The bindings around his wrists were removed as he was left in the middle of her bed chambers, the willful mistress of the darkened keep was twirling a dark curl around her twisted, little finger.

Her smile became sickly sweet when she saw that his chains were removed. She slowly traipses her way from the bed she is reclining towards his half-naked body, muscles flexing and twitching beneath his control, he saw the pure white cleavage peaking through her nightgown. Another involuntary jerk at the sensation, he swallowed hard. Gwaine’s mouth had gone dry. This is not what he had in mind when he said he would do anything to help Gaius get better, he thought.

Morgana’s lips are on his ear—her teeth teased at the edge—she spewed her vile tongue at him, “I knew I could find a use for this big strong knight that Arthur boasts about so much.” Her hand cupped around the outside of Gwaine’s breeches and stroked forcefully as he felt his body go rigid, she smiled, “Now don’t tell me Sir Playboy is shy.”

His own voice betrayed his thoughts as he replied huskily, “I wouldn’t know how to treat a woman of your caliber, my Lady,” to which he pulled Morgana toward him and whispered, “you’re not much of a lady now, are you?”

A fire appeared behind her eyes, it was enough to arrest Gwaine temporarily, but his accusation didn’t stop there. He seized hold of Morgana by the arms, pulled her towards him again as he mashed their lips together—first hitting teeth and biting—his mouth found her lips and bit down on them. Morgana moaned in the back of her throat as Gwaine dipped her neck back violently and kissed along her jaw and neckline. His hands find the lady’s waist, pulled on the end of her nightgown—he must have her now.

She pulled him over to the bed she had vacated not long before as he pulled off his breeches, leaving him exposed and her barely holding onto her nightgown. His anger at this tempestuous woman pulling the sheet of fabric covering her off and throwing it aside, she smiled at him in her condescending away, “We are going to have to make you pay for that later.” She holds her hands innocently over her breasts.

There was a moment when he almost felt like his usual self, the grin on his face as a woman laid underneath him, looked at him in the way that Morgana found him at that moment. He leaned into her and kissed her hard on the mouth one last time as he pushed himself inside her, her slickness creating a warm landing pad, and he felt the release as she arched her back towards him.

This may not have been worth it in the end, but it was good all the same.

* * *

**44.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Leon  
 **Warning(s):** None.

Leon had left for his first patrol six months ago. Gwen waited for his arrival in his chambers trying to convince herself it was merely to check on him. 

Her childhood crush was completely inappropriate and Leon was a great man. 

Still, a small part of her thought about the few times she had spied nobility and peasants alike taking their pleasures of the flesh after a rowdy feast. She imagined what it would be like to have Leon thrusting against her and wondered if it would feel the same as when she pleasured herself in her cot. 

The sound of the door swinging open had Gwen jumping and blushing guiltily.

Leon strode into the room before pausing at the sight of Gwen. 

For a moment they stared. 

“You have a beard,” Gwen said without thinking. 

It was not long or unruly, but sinfully attractive, unlike any beard Gwen had ever seen. Leon just laughed, used to how awkward Gwen always was. 

“You should not be here,” he reminded her. “Where is James?”

“He might not have received the message of your return,” Gwen said, doing her best to look innocent and biting her lips to keep from giggling. 

“Did he now?” Leon said smiling softly and it looked different with the beard. 

Unable to stop herself she raised one hand and tested the feel of the beard against her hand. It was rough and prickled slightly, but it sent jolts of arousal through her. Never in her life had she known lust like this. 

“Gwen,” Leon said softly and Gwen remembered where she was. “I have been called to Camelot.”

For a moment Gwen forgot how to breath. She had known that one day Leon would serve the King in Camelot just as his father had done before him. But that far away day had always been so distant. 

“When?” Gwen gasped, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. 

“In three days I must ride for Camelot.”

It was not enough time. Gwen grabbed Leon and ignored the lines they had never crossed. If this was the last time, she refused to let their roles define them. She pressed their lips together and she did not know what to do. So she kept them pressed until Leon moved and kissed her deep. 

Landing on the bed with a small bounce, Gwen quickly rolled them so she could be on top. Her dress got tangled around their legs, causing Gwen to stammer an apology as she tried to fix them. 

“Gwen,” Leon said softly. “It’s okay.”

“Right,” Gwen smiled and kissed his softly. “Just let me.”

She lowered his trousers to release his cock from their folds. It was much larger and thicker and looking nothing like how Gwen imagined. 

She curled her fingers around it and gave a tentative tug, causing Leon to groan. 

She wondered what it would taste like, but she did not dare. Instead she tightened her grip and with her other hand she snuck in under her skirt and played between the wet folds. Finding that small bud of pleasure she rubbed it faster and faster to a frenzy pace that had both of them groaning. 

Too focused on her pleasure she barely noticed Leon lowering her dress so that he was able to nuzzle her breasts. Feeling his beard rough against her pebbled nipples was enough to make Gwen come with a strangled yelp. 

As her body collapsed, shaking onto Leon, she completely forgot to keep rubbing his cock. Leon’s hand was the only thing that kept her hand moving up and down and bringing him to completion. Gwen watched in fascination as he tried to calm his breathing and wondered if there was anyone as beautiful. 

“I will miss you,” Gwen whispered her confession. 

“Not necessarily,” Leon said, smiling mischievously. “I heard the King’s ward is looking for a maid.”

* * *

**45.**  
 **Pairing:** Elena/Mithian  
 **Warnings:** brief reference to canon torture, some body issues

Elena can curtsy deeply without tipping over. Elena can dance, and walk down stairs, and stand straight, and eat without dropping her food, and her hair is smooth and golden and—and she couldn’t do any of it before.

It’s like she’s been wrapped in cotton wool her whole life and is only now freed, and everything is loud and bewildering and strange.

Riding feels the same. She does it more than she used to.

*

She visits Mithian, because the long ride feels good and the halls of Gawant feel empty and strange without Grunhilda, and they go riding together. Mithian waits until they’re well away from Nemeth’s echoing halls to speak. “Camelot—”

Elena shakes her head. “I don’t wish to speak of Camelot.”

Mithian frowns. Her horse slows. “Arthur of Camelot must have offended you greatly.”

Elena forces a laugh. “He didn’t, I promise. Not really. He’s … kind. Not what I expected.”

There’s a notch between Mithian’s brows, something terribly sad in her expression. “You’ve changed, though. Is it him? It must be.”

“No. It’s …” It’s her skin fitting wrong. It’s sudden, terrifying grace. It isn’t love. “I’ve just grown up, is all.”

*

Mithian visits her in turn, mouth tight and hands clutched around her reins, and talks politely and with no emotion until Elena draws her away to her chambers, excusing herself to her father with the need for gossip. When Mithian cries, her shoulders shake and she holds on to Elena like she fears she might drown. “Did you love him?” Elena asks.

“No, but I wanted to. It would have been so easy.” She stops crying, but she keeps holding on.

They spend the rest of Mithian’s visit pretending they aren’t princesses. They wander barefoot in the woods, Elena’s skirt hiked up around her knees and Mithian’s sleeves in ribbons from trying to pick roses. Elena makes her a crown of daisies and Mithian kisses her, hesitant and sweet. It feels strange and almost-too-much, but Elena kisses back, tipping Mithian on her back in her enthusiasm until they’re both laughing, content to rest and look at the clouds through the trees.

“It would be a great deal easier to love you,” says Mithian before she leaves, and Elena carries the memory of the press of fingers against her cheek for weeks.

They can’t make each other any promises, but they knew that already.

*

When Elena hears of Mithian’s hurt at Lady Morgana's hands she rides for Nemeth without thought. Mithian greets her by throwing her arms around her neck, and Elena holds on as tight as she can and lets them both breathe. It’s Mithian’s father who interrupts them, with something a little too shaky to be a laugh. When he speaks, it’s the closest thing to a blessing Elena could hope for. “Mithian, my dear, show her to the guest chambers.”

Mithian doesn’t. They go to her own chambers instead, and Elena tumbles her onto her bed, kissing her hard and trying to think of anything but how close she came to losing her. Mithian kisses back with equal force, hands straying over her body. Elena catches one in hers, notes the shiny, raw-looking skin at the wrist, and kisses it, frantic and wishing a simple kiss could make it better.

Maybe it does, though, because Mithian grows more pliant and less desperate from there, wrapping her arms firmly around Elena and sliding a leg up in between hers for Elena to ride. It’s a sudden shock, to be doing more than kissing, but Elena loves the sharpness of the pleasure, the way Mithian’s head falls back when Elena puts her mouth to her breast. They tangle themselves together so tightly that nothing could get between them, Elena impatiently pushing Mithian’s skirts out of her way to slip her hand between her legs, making her gasp and shiver. It’s easy to learn this, the rhythm of her body and Mithian’s together, better than anything she could imagine.

When Mithian comes apart beneath her, hands clutching in her hair, it’s enough to tip Elena over the edge as well. After, curled into a Mithian who looks herself again, cheeks flushed with color, Elena feels at home in her skin for perhaps the first time in her life.

* * *

**46.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

The small splashes of water punctuate the silence. 

In the cool evening, everything feels so much less real, like they’re ensconced in a bubble where no one can disturb them. 

Merlin draws his sleeves up to his elbows, uses the wooden bathwater scoop to douse Arthur’s head—the head that tomorrow will wear the crown, and the burden of the kingdom with it.

He massages Arthur’s scalp tenderly, his fingers dispersing the soap suds through dark honey-blonde hair, wiping away the sweat and grime of the day.

It’s a duty he cherishes no matter how much he grumbles about it—a time when it is only the two of them— _private time_.

It is something that he can give Arthur; the worship of his hands on Arthur’s body, cleansing and soothing him, taking away all the frustrations of a hard day before they bed down together for the night.

“You’re quiet,” Arthur says.

“Are you complaining?” Merlin says, his voice deliberately light.

Arthur shakes his head slightly, creating ripples in the bathwater. Merlin brings the washcloth to wipe at Arthur’s face, gentle. Up close, his lashes catch the candlelight, glinting like gold. His throat is bared and pink from the bath. It causes a warmth to curl in Merlin’s gut. 

Merlin gulps in a shuddery breath.

Tomorrow, Arthur will be _King_.

“Tomorrow—” Merlin says.

Arthur opens his eyes. Grasps Merlin’s wrist, quick as a flash.

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t talk.”

Arthur stands, sloshing water, and Merlin is quick to dry him.

Merlin slips the shirt on Arthur, patting down the material, and his fingers still on Arthur’s collarbone, lingering. He looks up slowly.

Arthur’s eyes meet his, a well of emotion in them. He moves forward to kiss Merlin in a chaste meeting of lips that’s soft and wet. But then Arthur’s mouth opens under Merlin’s, sucking on Merlin’s bottom lip and he’s lost. His hands grip tight on Arthur’s back as they kiss, exchanging breath and spit. 

Merlin begins to rub against Arthur’s thigh, his cock already a stiff tent in his breeches. They walk backwards to the bed, and Merlin unlaces them, his fingers suddenly clumsy.

They’ve done this so many times—in Arthur’s room, on a grassy plain, in tents during long visits away from Camelot—but there’s a heaviness present tonight, like one misstep will jar the fragile balance they’ve held for the past year.

The scent of the salve is sharp in the air, hitting Merlin’s nostrils as he uses it to slick them. Then it’s a slippery slide, warm and so good.

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, reaching down to shift his fringe out of his eyes. He is beautiful like this, flushed and warm beneath him, his eyes dark with a narrow rim of blue.

Arthur reaches between them and starts to fist their cocks at a slow, languid pace.

“I want this to last,” he finally says. 

Merlin grips Arthur, his thumb on the head, already glistening with precome, and rubs, eliciting a soft moan from him.

“Arthur, you’ll—” Merlin says.

“I won’t marry,” Arthur says, fierce, even as they rut against each other. “I don’t want a queen.”

“They’ll talk.”

“ _Let them_.”

And in that moment, Merlin sees the king he will be: King of Camelot—High King of Albion. A new age, arrived. Destiny’s wheels turning, and things slotting into place as they should. 

Merlin gasps, spurting come between them. Without his notice, his free hand has clasped Arthur’s, their fingers entwined. Arthur comes without a sound, his face contorted with pleasure.

Somewhere far away, a dragon’s wings beat in the air.


	3. Group C (warnings)

**47.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Gwaine's bad dirty jokes

Merlin can accredit the progression of this particular aspect of their relationship to five pivotal events. Although these instances may, at first, appear mundane and inconsequential to the casual observer, he’ll assure anyone that these memories are invariably the ones that remain most prominent, and the ones that mark the beginning of Merlin and Arthur.

***

The first incident was inevitable. It’s Merlin’s first week of employment as the manservant to the Prince of Camelot, and Arthur asks for a bath to be drawn. They can’t even claim friendship yet; in fact, Merlin hates Arthur, and it’s likely Arthur reciprocates. He considers magicking the bathwater cold, but decides against it. He doesn’t especially like the stocks.

Just as he sets the sloshing brass tub onto the floor at the centre of the Prince’s chambers, Arthur says, “Could you take a little longer next time?” and steps out from behind the screen. He’s naked.

Merlin stares, because although he should have anticipated this, he’s been caught entirely by surprise. Everything about Arthur is sharp and toned and undeniably masculine, and he wishes he didn’t feel slightly weak-kneed, but he does.

Arthur is giving him a look and he jolts back to reality. “Will that be everything, sire?”

“I should think so.”

Merlin bolts.

***

“You know what, Merlin?” says Arthur during the second incident. Several years have passed. “You… You are a _terrible_ manservant.”

Arthur has had too much to drink. He smells like the wine he spilt over his front. That’s going to be a fun stain to scrub out later, Merlin thinks. Thanks, Arthur.

“Merlin… Listen, _listen_ …” Arthur says, speaking in a whisper despite the fact that they’re locked in Arthur’s chambers, alone. He grabs Merlin’s shoulder and draws him in confidingly, the scent of alcohol intensifying. “You’re bad, just not… _too_ bad. Your ears are funny, but you’re…” he yawned, “…tolerable.”

Then Arthur collapses onto his bed, fully clothed, and appears to drift off instantaneously, a peek of skin exposed above his waist where his tunic has shifted. Even though he sees much more of Arthur’s bare skin every day, the sight triggers something inside him he hasn’t felt in a long time. Suddenly he wants to push the tunic up further, to feel the skin, to taste it, to smell it.

He doesn’t, of course. That would be improper.

***

“What do you think has gotten into him lately?” he asks Gwaine during the third incident, watching as Arthur, now King, lashes out fiercely at some poor new initiate. Arthur seems sharp and irritable all week.

“Oh, nothing,” Gwaine replies before smirking roguishly. “A better question might be what he’s gotten into, but the answer’s still the same.”

“What does _that_ mean?” 

“It means,” says Gwaine finally, “that he’s only blowing his top because no one’s been blowing it for him.

Merlin catches on and glances at Arthur who, as if he feels his gaze, turns to look back at him from across the training yard before he can look away. Their eyes lock, then linger, and Merlin is struck by the intensity of his stare. But before he can ponder its meaning, Arthur breaks eye contact. Merlin turns away.

***

(Merlin doesn’t talk about the fourth incident. If he did, Arthur might think he’d been spying, even though he hadn’t been. He suspects Arthur knows he saw, though.)

***

The fifth incident is, by far, the most important development of their relationship to date. Merlin is fixing Arthur’s collar, helping him dress. They’ll ride out on a quest tomorrow. This isn’t unusual; they’re used to it by now. All the same, a tense edge of anxiety cuts between them, stilling Merlin’s fingers until Arthur touches them with his own.

“Alright?”

“Yes…”

He’s not sure when or how it happened, but they’re close, so close, and Merlin only has to look up from Arthur’s tunic before they’re touching, first with foreheads, then with lips. The clothing he dressed Arthur in moments before is cast off carelessly, followed by Merlin’s. The backs of his knees find Arthur’s bed, and they stumble into it, limbs and thoughts tangled together in a way that makes them forget everything else. It’s fast and clumsy, but when Arthur pushes inside him, he’s in no state to care. They move, they taste, they touch, and eventually they reach their climax, together. It feels like fire.

***

The only difference between friendship and falling in love, Merlin thinks, is intimacy, and yet even this line is blurred between close friends. Crossing it is a small step.

* * *

 **48.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

Arthur all but dragged Merlin up the stairs and to his rooms. Once inside he slams the heavy door roughly and bolts it, he’d never wanted to get his armour off so badly in his life- correction, he’d never wanted _Merlin_ to get his armour off him so badly in his life. “You,” he growled, voice hot with need. “You,” he repeated, but didn’t seem able to proceed further.

Merlin isn’t much better. After a few failed attempts at processing what Arthur is saying, he crushes their mouths together in a wet, messy kiss; making up in enthusiasm what it lacks in finesse.

Their hands scrabble at buckles and straps trying to remember what order his armour needs to be removed in. The coutere and vambrance slip off easily enough, but somehow Arthur has loosened his gorget before undoing the buckles on his pauldron. 

“Arthur,” Merlin pants, “Arthur, stop, stop. Let me, it’s what I’m supposed to be doing, isn’t it?” he asks breathily, fingers nimbly working the closures.

Arthur nods, barely able to catch his breath let alone form a smart retort regarding Merlin’s skills as a servant. He only knows one thing- he _wants_. He wants Merlin, wants him now, wants to touch and feel and… 

He forces his hands away from his armour and concentrates on removing Merlin’s clothes as best he can with his armour hanging awkwardly from his arm, attacking first the neckerchief that hides the long length of Merlin’s pale neck. Victorious, Arthur’s mouth latches onto the exposed flesh biting, sucking, marking this new territory as his. He’s only distantly aware of his gorget falling to the floor followed by his pauldron, and then his right arm is free to wrap around Merlin’s slim waist and pull him closer as his lips trail hungrily up along his neck and jaw, finally settling over his waiting mouth.

Merlin’s hand ghosts over the metal links of Arthur’s chainmail, holding on as Arthur kisses him hard, demanding, and passionate, full of emotions he couldn’t even begin to name. As their tongues battle and dance he feels a warm calloused hand work its way under his tunic sliding teasingly over his skin finally settling just above his hip.

Arthur pulls back, eyes hungry and lust blown as he pulls Merlin’s tunic over his head and lunges at a dusky nipple.  
A sound somewhere between a squeak and a groan falls from Merlin’s lips; Arthur smiles around the nub he holds in his teeth and flicks his tongue over the tip earning him a whimper.

Arthur’s mail pushes into his skin as they grapple closer, Merlin’s fingers pulling at the hauberk for purchase. 

Gently, Arthur pushes them towards the bed, pressing Merlin down against the fine cloth, trapping his body between the soft expanse of bed and the firm bite of chainmail. 

A breathy moan comes from deep in Merlin’s throat as he relishes in the familiar feel of soft velvet like the finest silk rubbing against his back, and the links of chain as they roll and flow, a metallic waterfall cascading along his bare chest- he knows how much it weighs, how heavily it lays on Arthur’s broad shoulders, and the sheer bulk of it, but that doesn’t take away the delicacy he feels as the chain tinkles and moves against him.

Then Arthur’s pulling away again, despite Merlin’s efforts to hold him in place. Arthur gently wrests Merlin’s hands from his hauberk, his earlier frenzy calming now that he has Merlin’s skin under his hands and his body beneath him. Smirking, he brings Merlin’s palms to his lips and kisses them before letting them go to tug the rugged chain off and let it fall to the side, the metal whoosh echoing in Merlin’s ears as it lands beside him on the bed. The gambeson is more cumbersome, its padding designed to protect, not for easy removal, but somehow they get it off, Arthur’s own tunic following close behind. Then Arthur’s back on him, chest to chest, their light dustings of hair tickling as they almost touch. Arthur nuzzles at Merlin’s neck, nipping the tight tendon only to sooth the bite with tender kisses, letting his bottom lip drag moist and warm over the accosted flesh. He licks a swath up the length of Merlin’s neck, kissing along his jaw until he reaches that wet mouth where Merlin accepts him welcomingly, and he can’t help but wonder if Merlin’s body will open up as welcomingly when the time comes.

* * *

 **49.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Solo Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Misogynistic attitudes typical to the time period

Morgana woke up gasping and squeezing the sweaty sheets. 

It took her a moment to realise that this time it hadn’t been a nightmare that woke her up. Blood wasn’t rushing in her ears like it usually did when dreams woke her up in the middle of a night, but instead pumping _between her legs_. It was like she could feel her own heartbeats under the hem of her nightshirt. There was something slick on her thighs and the clothing covering her too, and even though it should’ve felt uncomfortable, the feeling made her squirmy in the best possible way.

It really wasn’t done, this thing she was considering. Morgana had been told as many stories about marital bed and the wife’s duties as any other woman, but this, this had never been spoken about when she had been within a hearing distance. The old wives spoke about the pain of the first time they had lain with their husbands and about childbirth, but any enjoyment they might’ve had from it was always discussed only in hushed tones or among the young and dishonourable.

Morgana pushed the blankets aside, lifted the nightshirt with one hand and spread her legs. The cool night air hit the skin and made her shiver. Softly she touched the slickness she found under her nightshirt. Her hips made a small involuntary movement at the touch.

Gathering her courage, Morgana slid her fingertips on the velvety skin and gasped again. Her heartbeat quickened and so did the insistent pulsing under her fingers.

Her nightshirt was hiked up on her stomach now, but she reached to touch the skin under it. When her fingers moved on her thighs and stomach she felt a flush spreading all over her body. Her breasts and nipples were more sensitive than they usually did; brushing a thumb across a nipple and cupping a breast made her breathing abrupt.

And she really shouldn’t have done it. A woman’s honour and purity in things like this meant everything, was essential, and if Morgana ever chose to get married, her future husband had every right to throw her out if she was not untouched before her wedding night. But she _needed_ to know.

She pushed two fingers inside.

When she did that her palm brushed a spot that made her back arch. She had to bite her lip hard to not make a sound that would alert someone. She pushed the fingers deeper and brought her other hand between her legs too. She rubbed the little point of pleasure while pushing and pulling the fingers of her other hand in and out of her.

Morgana thought of someone else doing this to her. What would a pair of warm and moist lips feel on the nub? A tongue pushing inside her? Someone else’s fingers playing her like some kind of instrument and pulling the gasps of pleasure out of her?

Images of other people filled Morgana’s mind, and they were wrong and filthy and some were almost criminal, but now Morgana had started this she couldn’t stop. It was pleasure like she had never before felt, and she was hovering on the edge of _something_. The only thing she could do was to move her hands faster. A bit of more pressure, a bit deeper, just a small movement to the left...

Morgana screamed.

When she was still coming down from her peak, she heard steps hurrying towards her door and had just enough time to pull the blanket on top of her shaking thighs.

“My lady? Did you have another nightmare?” Gwen asked, giving Morgana a cup of water from the table. Morgana accepted the water and nodded.

“Do you think you could take some medicine and try sleeping some more, or do you want me to keep you company?”

“No, Gwen. You go to sleep,” Morgana said voice shaky. “I will be alright in a moment.”

And she would be alright after Gwen left, and she could properly test the story about women being able to reach the peak of their pleasure more than once in a short period of time.

Oh, Morgana would be more than fine.

* * *

 **50.**  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** Watersports, slight dub-con

Sir Edward from one of the outlying villages near the western border is visiting for a time with his daughter, the Lady Catherine. Since she is well-breed, well-behaved, and generally considered to be an attractive marriage prospect, Uther insists that Arthur entertain the lady while he and Sir Edward discuss the upcoming harvest.

However, Uther fails to mention that Lady Catherine is also considered to be (boring the most insipid girl in her entire village. So here Arthur sits, on what would otherwise be a delightful picnic date on the river bank, dreadfully bored. Merlin is acting as chaperone, sitting a few feet away under a tree, and Arthur can see him rolling his eyes at every story Lady Catherine tells.

After a while, Arthur sees him fidget and stand as if he could leave without Arthur noticing. “Merlin,” he calls. “Where are you going?”

Merlin glances away, shifty as usual. “I was going to find more berries,” he says before walking away with very fast, awkward steps.

It’s quite possibly the worst lie he has ever told.

*

Merlin has gone a few paces into the woods before Arthur catches up to him, startling him.“What do you think you’re doing, leaving me with that dolt?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he says, turning around. “Besides, you deserve some time alone with her.” It’s clear by the gleam in Merlin’s eye he means Arthur deserves this torture, possibly as payback for making him the target during practice the other day.

“Well, go on then.” Arthur gestures toward him.

“Arthur, I’m not going to take a piss with you watching.”

“No need to be embarrassed, Merlin. I’ve seen your prick before. I’m sure once you grow up a bit....”

Merlin glares at him. “And just when have you seen my prick?”

“You’re not the only one to sneak a look while we’re all bathing in the river on hunting trips,” Arthur says with a smirk.

Merlin blushes high on his cheeks. “Just stay over there.”

He turns away and unties his breeches, taking his prick out. Suddenly Arthur’s there, Merlin can feel the heat of him on his back. “What are you doing, Arthur?”

“When I was young, one of the knights told me stories about the different ways two men can share pleasure.” Arthur runs his palm down Merlin’s right side. “Does that sound like something you would enjoy, Merlin?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Merlin whines.

“I thought so.” Arthur is smug with the knowledge. He comes even closer, chest pressing against Merlin’s back. His right hand now rests on the skin below Merlin’s belly, his left holds tight to Merlin’s hip.

Merlin’s breath catches and he clenches the fabric of his pants in his fists as his prick starts to take interest in the proceedings.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you Merlin?” Arthur says, kissing the back of Merlin’s neck. He takes Merlin in hand, gripping him firmly. Merlin whines and clutches at Arthur’s thigh. He’s fully hard now and it’s painful to have two strong urges warring inside him – the need to thrust into Arthur’s hand and the need to relieve his bladder.

In the end Arthur whispering filth into his ear while he rubs himself against Merlin’s backside pushes him over the edge and he comes, dribbling over Arthur’s hand and into his open pants. He’s shaking with how good it feels. Arthur makes a disgusted face and wipes his hand on Merlin’s thigh, still holding him against his chest.

After a few moments, Merlin recovers himself, stands a little steadier on his feet as he lets go and wets the grass below.

*

“Arthur, you should return to Lady Catherine.” Merlin says, tucking himself away.

“Yes, I suppose it _would_ be rude to abandon her here.”

They share a look before awkwardly making their way back to the river and an oblivious Lady Catherine.

* * *

 **51.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Various (Will/Freya, Hunith/Balinor, implied Lancelot/Gwaine)  
 **Warning(s):** Canonical violence (averted)

Merlin enters Camelot's gate full of wonder, staring about like a child. That lasts until he arrives at the keep and discovers a man about to be executed.

"What's he done?" Merlin asks the woman beside him in the crowd.

"Used magic to help one of the horses foal safely," she replies.

When the executioner drops the axe, it bounces.

In the ensuing uproar, as the archers notch arrows that turn to ash in their hands and several knights trip over air, the prisoner rolls slowly to his feet, wide-eyed, and falls gracelessly off the platform. Picking himself up, he stumbles to the arms of a wailing old woman, and the crowd parts confusedly to let them pass.

Merlin's tired now, but he has somewhere to be.

The lower town no longer seems glamorous. He finds the house easily - it's the one that looks like someone smashed it up last night. Door hanging from one hinge, pottery shards spread out into the street. Merlin's lips thin.

The young man and his mother are in the house, salvaging whatever they can and putting it in sacks for the road. Merlin has to cough twice to get their attention.

"Who are you?" the old woman asks suspiciously.

Merlin shrugs. "A friend?"

~ * ~ 

Sneaking them out the gate after dark turns out to be quite simple, despite the guards everywhere. Merlin stands on the road and waves until they're out of sight, heading east. Then he turns around-

-and almost smacks into a lady in a blue dress.

"Oh, hullo!" He straightens and tries to pretend he wasn't just conspiring with a condemned sorcerer.

The lady arches one perfect eyebrow. "You'll do, but we must work on your expressions."

And that's how Merlin became a servant to the Lady Morgana.

~ * ~

"Don't use magic in front of Uther, unless it's very subtle," Morgana instructs.

Merlin nods.

"But it's fine in front of Arthur. Really, he won't notice unless you dance three feet in the air juggling fireballs."

Merlin nods.

"Maybe not even then."

Merlin nods.

Morgana sighs. "I'm trying to tell you to go ahead and save people, if you can. When you can."

"Oh."

"And don't tell me where you send them."

~ * ~

Hunith has just blown out the candle when there's scrape at the door, the sound of someone who can't decide whether to knock or not. Relighting the candle from the banked fire, she opens the peephole.

A stranger, bald - a blacksmith by his arms. He's shaking like a leaf.

She sighs and unlocks the door, mentally considering how long it would take to warm some of last night's stew.

~ * ~

Will's working the fields, finally healed from that stupid arrow to the shoulder, when he catches movement on the road. A girl, dark-haired and wearing a tattered red dress, stumbles along barefoot.

She's the loveliest woman he's ever seen.

~ * ~

"I'm cursed," Freya tells him, and he replies, "You'll want Old Mary for that, or the druid boy."

"There's a price on my head."

"If this village wanted gold, we'd have turned in Tom."

"I'm still in love with Merlin."

His smile is bittersweet. "Aren't we all?"

Her kiss tastes salty, like tears.

~ * ~

Balinor lies back in his bed. (His own bed! It still amazes him.) His trousers lie on the chair beside, and he's stroking himself distractedly. Hunith is pulling off her dress slowly, teasing him as one by one the buttons push through their holes and leave another fingers-breath of skin bare to the candlelight. His breath comes rougher, his cock beginning to strain in his hand.

Finally the dress pools at her feet, and she climbs onto the bed, eyes sparkling as she straddles him. She teases again, running her hands through the hair on his chest, brushing her backside lightly against his cockhead, which is straining out of its foreskin.

"Please," he growls, and she lifts up-

-Someone knocks.

Hunith closes her eyes, resigned, and crawls away to re-dress while Balinor twitches the blanket over his lap and tries not to wish ill on his son.

The blond boy at the door is wide-eyed and desperate-looking. Just Merlin's type.

"G-Gilli. I- I was told I could-"

And Hunith, finally, has had enough.

"Next door," she says, pointing. "Lancelot and Gwaine's house. Tell them Hunith sent you, and I'm collecting on their debt."

The boy nods, and Hunith shuts the door before he's gone more than two steps. Turning back to the room, she smiles at her husband. 

"Now, where were we?"

* * *

**52.**   
**Pairing(s): Merlin/Morgana**   
**Warning(s): None**

Merlin grumbled to himself as he walked down the deserted halls of the castle. He had spent the evening polishing Arthur's weapons - twice. Because the royal prat could still see fingerprints, visible to only his eyes apparently. 

He walked past Morgana's rooms when he heard her shout his name, sounding desperate. He rushed in, finding her behind her bed curtains, still asleep, struggling with her dreams again.

"Morgana," Merlin touched her shoulder, "wake up."

She mumbled something, hard for Merlin to hear. He leaned over her. "I won't let you die alone. I will stay and watch over you." The words themselves should sound caring, but there's hate in her voice. It makes Merlin's chest tighten, like a warning. 

He shook her harder. Her eyes opened, looking at him, unfocused. She looked odd, older and madder. It scared him. He decided, now that she's awake, he should leave. It wasn't proper to be alone in a Lady's room. But when he started to turn, her eyes softened and she let out a small, wounded sound and looked young again, and very tired. 

"Morgana, I -" 

"Shush." She grabbed his forearm and pulled him into the bed.

She arranged him on his back and curled up against him, seeking comfort. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her. The stocks would seem like a picnic on a sunny, breezy spring day compared to what Arthur would do to him if he found them like this.

"Merlin," Morgana whispered, "you understand me."

"Er..." Did she have visions of his magic? "I..."

"I see it in your eyes." Her fingers brushed on the bare skin of his chest along the edge of his tunic. "Arthur thinks I'm going mad. Gaius and Gwen think I'm ill. Uther thinks I'm insolent."

"Do you remember your dreams?" he asked, trying to distract her or maybe himself from thinking about her leg thrown over his, the dangerous feel of it.

"Not tonight's." It came out sounding grateful. 

They fell into silence. Merlin realized their breathes had synced and he knew she could feel his heart beating like a wild rabbit's.

Her fingers wandered down his chest. Her leg moved and brushed him where his body had reacted in an inappropriate manner towards a Lady. 

She moved then, covering him with her whole body, she kissed him. He screamed inside of his head _'Dungeons! Death! Fire!_

The intoxicating smell and feel of her hair, falling around his face, overpowered him and the scared voice in his head became drowned out by the sound of their kisses and their breathing.

When her kisses held more intent, more seriousness, he tried to stop. "We shouldn't."

She ignored him, rolled him on top of her and pulled down his breeches, just far enough for her to hold his cock. 

No one had ever touched him before. It stunned him. He didn't notice she'd lifted her nightgown, until she started to urge him forward.

"I've never..." he said.

"It's all right," she whispered. Her legs spread for him.

The tight, hot wetness surrounding his cock, the soft skin of her thighs pushed up against him, felt like nothing he'd ever imagined. He buried his face in her neck and let his body tell him what to do, thrusting into her only a few times when it all overpowered him. 

He started to shake, trying to hold back. She soothed him, petting his back. "Come for me, my darling." 

He came hard, blinded, deaf from blood pounding in his ears, muscles taught. It would've been terrifying if it didn't feel so wonderful.

Morgana smiled, looking pleased. "Help me," she said, taking a breast out of her gown and urging him to it. 

Merlin licked and she moaned, "Suck." So he did, while she slid her hand between them. She rubbed the wetness between her legs, his cock still inside, still semi-hard. She spread her legs more and Merlin sucked and started to thrust again. 

He didn't know what he'd done right, but she grabbed his hair tight, moaning and shaking like he had when he came. 

"Merlin," she breathed. "Oh, Merlin, promise me you'll always be here for me. You'll always believe in me."

Merlin wanted to say 'yes' and 'always', but it felt like that promise came at the risk of being there for Arthur, like he had to choose between them.

He didn't want to lie to her. So he kissed her and thrust into her harder, hoping she wouldn't notice he never answered.

* * *

**53.**   
**Pairing: Merlin/Arthur**   
**Warnings: None**

“Sire,” Merlin raises his voice as he steps closer to his bed and Arthur raises an eyebrow in return, daring him to continue in the same tone. “I’m just trying to help you start the day.”

“And you being annoying is helping me how, exactly?” Arthur asks before he flings the goblet from his bedstand across the room. Merlin uses the pillow Arthur had thrown before as a shield and pushes it away.

“Oh, I don’t know! Some people would appreciate seeing a friendly face fist thing in the morning.”

“Maybe not your friendly face,” Arthur says. Merlin glares at him.

“Maybe not,” He says grumpily, finally close enough to drop the pillow back where it belongs. “What would you want, then?" What way do I find to wake his royal highness up without him being in the mood to kill me when he opens his eyes?”

Arthur lets himself wonder about that one. Given the state he finds himself in most mornings, he could probably think of a few pleasant activities that would help him chase the sleepiness away, and they actually required staying in bed for a few moments longer which was always a plus. They didn’t have to involve Merlin, of course, but—

He must’ve thought a bit harder about it because he feels that a small smirk has made its way onto his face and Merlin’s looking rather sheepish. Arthur’s smile drops.

“No, Merlin,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t say anything,” Merlin interrupts, obviously wanting to spare Arthur and himself the awkwardness. Arthur catches a sight of his flushed cheeks before Merlin turns around and busies himself around the table.

“But you thought about it,” Arthur decides to tease.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin says, and there isn’t a thing he could say that could make him more obvious than that, really.

“You did! Did you actually consider it? Are you going to try it tomorrow, should I prepare myself?” His little speech is interrupted as one of the plates meets the floor with a loud clang

“Not your wisest choice of words, Arthur,” Merlin mumbles.

“What, ‘prepare myself’?” Arthur laughs. “Wow, Merlin, I never knew!” 

“Shut up.”

“…he said to the crown prince and got himself hanged.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna hang me for that, are you?” Merlin asks over his shoulder. Arthur gives him a small smile.

“No, I’m not gonna do that. Come here, Merlin.” He hesitates and Arthur sighs. “Just come.”

Finally, Merlin steps closer and sits on the bed (but only after Arthur has patted the spot impatiently). Arthur spares them both the trouble and leans in for a kiss right away, his fingers running through Merlin’s hair, pulling lightly and grazing the tip of a ridiculous ear. Merlin trembles and shifts closer as he kisses back, shifting entirely onto the bed and fisting Arthur’s nightshirt as he rises onto his knees. A wide grin spreads across his face when he pulls back.

“I thought about it,” he says goofily and Arthur laughs, leaning forward again and seeking another kiss. “No,” Merlin says and licks his lips. “I… have thought about it,” he says lowly  
as his fingers brush against Arthur’s thigh. 

“Oh?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah,” Merlin replies as he touches Arthur’s clothed cock lightly and Arthur groans.

“So have I,” Arthur says before he kisses him again. “But you don’t have to,” he says hastily when he pulls away again. “Not now, I mean—”

“Shut up,” Merlin says again, and Arthur does. 

Merlin’s all long fingers and sly smiles as he takes his time getting Arthur’s cock out of his pants, and he’s talking again but Arthur doesn’t hear a thing – he’s too busy appreciating his tone, the feeling of Merlin’s voice in his ears and Merlin’s hands on his body; Merlin’s lips are pulled in a seductive smirk but soon it disappears as those lips touch Arthur’s skin and he just moans. Merlin’s moaning, too – around him – as he sucks and tongues and does a little bit more of that, yeah, fuck, and Arthur’s coming. He’s soon laying back and pulling Merlin on top of himself, letting him rut on top of him and touching anywhere his hands can get.

And when Merlin tenses and lets out a small choking sound right in Arthur’s ear, he decides that’s all he needs to hear from Merlin in the morning in order to start a wonderful day.

* * *

 **54.**  
 **Title:** Semper Fidelis  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Rating:** R

“Come here.” 

Arthur sat, beckoning Merlin with challenge in his eyes. After today’s combat with Valiant, and his father’s displeasure, Arthur was desperate to have Merlin, here, where, before these thrones Merlin’s faithfulness was proven, but he was the prince and would go to his knees for no man. But he could sit upon his seat of power and grace this upon Merlin. As Merlin came closer, Arthur gestured to the space between his legs. 

“Here.” Something uncurled in his chest as Merlin acquiesced with minimal complaint and swiftly, lest he lose his nerve, Arthur wrenched Merlin’s belt undone, dropping it to grasp the waistband of his rough trousers. 

“What are - Arthur- is this because-earlier?” Wide eyes cautious, Merlin tried to step away but the fencing allowed mere inches.

“No.” Arthur shrugged. Arthur shoved a hand into Merlin’s trousers, palming the stiffening cock, smiling at Merlin’s sibilant curse. “Yes.”

“What-”

“You were truthful. Loyal. I can trust you.” Merlin was taken aback at the solemnity of Arthur’s tone. “Can’t I?” he drawled.  
Merlin’s head fell forward to look at his prince; Arthur’s eye’s bright with mirth and a hint of fear, questioning though his smirk suggested he knew Merlin’s answer. Arthur used his tongue to lift an end of the lace fastening Merlin’s trousers, drawing it between his teeth, nose grazing the hard cock beneath, tugging, dropping it triumphantly as it loosened and worked his hands beneath the fabric, jerking trousers and underclothes down to Merlin’s ankles.

“Yes.” Merlin whispered, hands shifting to the railing for stability.

Filling his palms with Merlin’s ass, Arthur mouthed the plump cock-head before him, tonguing beneath the foreskin to suckle it between his lips, before taking more of Merlin’s cock into his mouth, tongue pressing tight.

“Oh,” Merlin breathed as he felt Arthur’s throat constrict, the hot suction on his shaft overwhelming, body listing forward, hands scrabbling at broad shoulders as Arthur pulled back just to swallow him down again, humming this time, hands roughly massaging Merlin’s backside, playing with his crack to hear Merlin’s moans flood the stadium as Arthur’s hands slid down the sensitive backs of his thighs, to knees and tugged as he pulled back, cock popping free as he gazed up at Merlin’s befuddled face, grazing his chapped lips back and forth across the slit, coating them in the fluid seeping forth.

Merlin’s knees obeyed and as Arthur felt him settle, he roughly fisted Merlin’s cock, the friction just the sweet side of painful as Merlin’s hips arched up sharply in response, hands combed into Arthur’s hair, jerking Arthur’s head back, cocking his head as he gently leant forward, half expecting Arthur to turn away. When he didn’t, Merlin lapped himself off Arthur’s lips before surrendering control, the prince’s sucking Merlin’s tongue, teasing its sensitive underside with his own as, dry, he pushed against Merlin’s hole, teasing .

i>“Fuck,” Merlin growled, pulling away to get air, shifting back onto Arthur’s finger, before jerking forward to fuck his fist before both hands were gone, leaving him bereft, until he felt Arthur’s hands clumsy with need, and lack of practice, tearing at his own lacings. Merlin intervened, muttering at Arthur’s incompetence, unwilling to wait any longer than necessary to get Arthur’s hands back on him or to get his hands on the shaft straining up towards Arthur’s stomach as it was freed, slick head slicking Merlin’s hand. He only managed a couple of heady pulls before Arthur wrapped his rough palm around them both, other hand sliding to smooth lower back, clutching his servant close at the feel of nothing separating their flesh, as they writhed together.

Arthur jacked them in a punishing rhythm, long out of control, robbed of stamina by fatigue, head tipped forward to watch their cocks penetrate his fist, other hand biting rough into Merlin’s buttocks, hips pumping as Merlin urged him on, hands stuffed beneath Arthur’s tunic, scratching blunt nails across straining abdominals, biting at Arthur’s neck having lost the prince’s mouth.

Arthur’s broken “Mer-” as he came in harsh spasms, the warrior beautiful, eyes flashing in the torchlight, crooked teeth sinking into the plump flesh of his lower lip, kicked Merlin over the edge, cock jerking as he spent.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, reverent. His legs were uncomfortably hobbled and his ass cold but the heat of Arthur, the sight of their cocks covered in each other’s release was more than worth it.

Releasing Merlin at his whine, Arthur smeared his come-stained hand upon his father’s throne.

“One day, I’ll fuck you on that one.”

* * *

 **55.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** shameless ~~stealing~~ borrowing of lines from the show

“He has a fragment of sword embedded in his chest.”

“Then we’ll use magic to draw it out.”

“No, the blade that struck Arthur was no ordinary blade. I fear it was forged in dragon’s breath. The blade’s point is travelling inexorably towards his heart. It would take power as ancient as dragons themselves to thwart such magic.”

“There must be something we can do, Gaius. I can’t just watch him die.”

Merlin can tell Gaius knows something, but hasn’t decided whether to share the knowledge.

“Just tell me,” Merlin goes off, earning only a raised eyebrow. “Please,” he adds much more mildly.

“There was a custom amongst druidic tribes, the ultimate way of binding two people’s souls, allowing them to share their burdens and strength.”

“If I give myself to him, my immortality won’t let him die,” Merlin says after a moment of contemplation.

“Nothing is certain, my boy. It could drain you and kill you both.”

“It’s worth the risk.”

~~~xxx~~~

“All these years, you’ve lied to me,” Arthur says, never meeting Merlin’s gaze.

“I had to.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I didn’t want to make you choose.”

~~~xxx~~~

“We’re here, the sacred ground. We can do this.”

“It’s too late,” Arthur says. 

He sounds resigned.

“I’m not going to lose you.”

Merlin lets his magic do the work, undressing them both. 

“I wish we had time to do it properly. I wish I could make you enjoy it as much as you should,” Merlin says, tendrils of his power preparing Arthur. They’re gentle, warm and soothing, just like Merlin himself would be.

“Just hold me, please,” Arthur breathes out, his weight resting on Merlin completely.

“Arthur, don’t,” Merlin chokes out, his throat constricted with emotions. “I’ll save you. I have to…”

“There’s something I need to say…”

Arthur’s breath hitches as Merlin guides himself slowly inside his body.

“Shh, there will be time for talking later.” 

There’s no stopping the tears now.

“Everything you’ve done. For me, for Camelot,” Arthur says.

Merlin’s lips are forming words, the ancient language spilling from him without any conscious thought, his magic taking the lead. He’s rolling his hips, the pleasure feels bittersweet as it coils low in his belly. 

“I never said this to you before,” Arthur continues, his eyes barely open as he looks at Merlin. 

His cock is half hard when Merlin reaches for it. He doubts Arthur even realizes.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispers, small smile playing on his lips. “I love you.” Almost inaudible.

His eyes flutter closed. 

“No, Arthur, no,” Merlin breathes out. 

He speeds up his movements, clutching at Arthur’s still form. 

“Arthur,” he shouts, his magic pushing him the last step towards his release.

He feels Arthur’s cock jumping under his palm, his power helping them when most needed.

In one moment, he feels like being torn apart and set back together in a different order. Images flash through his mind, Camelot, their friends, places and people he doesn’t know, his own face.

Sharp pain bursts in his side, like a serket bite only so much worse. He cries out, closing his eyes.

‘I love you too,’ he thinks before succumbing to darkness.

~~~xxx~~~

He’s warm, incredibly so. He doesn’t want to wake up yet, but something tells him he should. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, staring up at a colourful canopy of trees. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Arthur murmurs, linking their fingers together. “It seems we missed the whole summer.”

“Maybe more than one,” Merlin says, trying to remember if the trees were always this tall and this close.

“Let’s see then,” Arthur says.

“Not yet,” Merlin whispers into Arthur’s ear and cuddles closer. “We have all the time in the world.”

* * *

 **56.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 **A/N:** Canon divergent following opening of 4x09 (i.e. Gwen and Arthur got married when he originally proposed, Morgana did not interfere, everything was perfectly lovely.)

About a month after they married, when Arthur addressed Gwen at a banquet one evening, she realised she was never going to be able to hear name in his voice again without getting butterflies in her stomach.

Because his casual, “what do you think, Guinevere?” was not so different from – 

– his teasing ‘Guine _vere_ ’ when his lips were trailing down her inner thigh, pressing kisses mere inches away from where she wanted them – 

– his desperate, breathless ‘ _Guinevere_ ’ when she sat astride him and slowly took his prick inside herself –

– And she was lost for words. Her face burned. 

“You did that on purpose,” she said afterwards when they were in her chambers.

Arthur paused nuzzling her neck and said, “did what on purpose?”

“Said my name like that.”

His lips pressed against her collar bone. She shivered. “I did nothing of the sort, _Guine_ vere.”

“You’re doing it right now!” she hissed.

“I’m not doing anything.” He paused. “ _Guinevere_.”

He slid to his knees and pressed his lips against her stomach, kissing her through the sheer fabric of her slip. “Mmm. If I’ve irritated you, you shall just have to make me pay for it later.”

Naturally, Arthur had refused to bed her before they were married. Not even when they were officially betrothed. He had set a ‘no hands below the waist’ rule and kept to it.

Gwen hadn’t realised just how frustrating he was finding his own damned rule until their wedding night. It had been rough and sloppy and frantic. Afterwards, when they were tangled and sweaty and Gwen was still shaking, he had turned to her and said, “I have no intention of leaving our rooms tomorrow. Or possibly this bed. Just so you know.”

She had laughed.

He pulled up her slip and kissed her properly, just at the top of her thigh. “Although,” he kissed her again, a little lower. “I really don’t see what’s so irritating about saying your name.”

“It’s very distracting.”

“Oh, it’s _distracting_ , is it?” his head dipped lower. “Distracting, Guinevere? Because it’s not like you’re never _distracting_.”

“What do I do that’s distracting?” His thumb brushed the underside of her knee.

“You keep looking at me,” said Arthur. “With those eyes of yours.” His hand squeezed her thigh. “And you were _that dress_. You know, the one you were wearing tonight.” His breath was brushing against her cunt. “Really, it’s a wonder I get anything done.”

“Arthur, if you don’t stop teasing soon I really _will_ be irritated.”

“Mmm,” he said again. Then he stood up and kissed her on the mouth the way that always made her head spin. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him lift her off the ground.

“I refuse to stop saying your name,” he said once she was settled on the bed. “It’s a lovely name. Guinevere.” He lifted her shift with a flourish.

He was smirking up at her. She trailed a hand through his hair then pushed his head down between her legs.

“ _Guinevere_ ,” he said, voice suddenly rough. She opened her legs.

He pressed a few more kisses to her inner thigh, then stopped teasing and went straight to the heart of her cunt, tongue twisting hot between her labia.

Arthur had figured out very quickly that this was one of his favourite things to do. Gwen rarely saw him more content than when his face was buried betwixt her legs – not that she was complaining in the slightest.

She kept her hand in his hair while he ate her out. He moaned and drew back a little, just enough to get his fingers in, spreading her apart so he could get his tongue even deeper.

Gwen’s toes curled against the bedsheets. “Yes,” she said. Arthur moaned again and this time the sound seemed to go right through her. She cried out.

“Guinevere,” he said, lips moving against her. She tightened her grip on his hair and held him in place, where she wanted him, until she came, her whole body thrumming.

She didn’t realise she had screamed again until after, when she was panting and Arthur’s head was pillowed on her thigh. “You’re very noisy,” he said. “See, that’s another thing that’s distracting.”

“That’s not a distraction,” said Gwen, voice trembling. “It’s an encouragement.”

He hummed and agreement. She felt his fingers on her cunt again, toying with her, testing how wet she was. “By the way, I’ve made sure both our schedules are clear for tomorrow. Thought you ought to know.”

* * *

 **57.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur; Arthur/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** infidelity 

The first time Gwen discovers them, it is like this.

Merlin moves between Arthur’s thighs, in, deeper. He takes Arthur in hand and strokes in time with his thrusts, building a rhythm it’s hard to believe comes from the same man who can’t walk and speak at the same time without tripping over his own feet. Arthur’s cock leaks seed on his belly as Merlin fills him again and again. 

“Is it good?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur nods. Words he must not say threaten to bubble up from his throat. He clenches his jaw.

“Tell me it’s good, you prat.” 

“It’s good, it’s good. Get on with it, Merlin.”

“Oh, I’ll get on with it.” Merlin grimaces with effort and pulls out before slamming back in, this time with enough force to steal Arthur’s breath. 

It is only later, once he is back in his own chambers, that Arthur realizes they’ve been seen. Gwen greets him with a stony stare. There are tears, and a promise it won’t happen again, and an empty ache that mocks Arthur’s oath. He must conquer this. He must.

***

The second time is the same.

***

And the third. 

“I’m not a foolish person, Arthur,” Gwen says with a straight spine. “Do not lie and say there is nothing between you any longer.” 

Arthur’s guts twist with shame. He covers his face with hands that still smell of Merlin, of the places Arthur has touched and tasted, the places he has . . .

“I’m sorry.” He is a liar, and the disgrace of it courses hot within him. 

“Why did you marry me? Do you love me?”

He stands. “Of course I do.” 

The tight line of her mouth softens. “Promise me.”

***

It has been a month since he last visited Merlin’s chambers, and need flares in Arthur’s belly. He turns to Gwen and prods his hard prick against her. She welcomes him with open arms, and as he releases inside of her, her warm slickness drawing him in, Arthur closes his eyes and imagines wide blue eyes and hot seed.

***

He can’t stop watching Merlin as he settles the camp for the evening, jesting with the knights and tending the horses, but never returning Arthur’s gaze. 

That burnt, raw ache claws its way into Arthur’s throat, and when Merlin leaves to collect firewood, Arthur follows. 

He takes Merlin braced against a tree, the bark rough at his back. Merlin sobs and clings to him as Arthur spears him deeply, cock working in and out with full, long thrusts. 

“I thought it was over,” Merlin whispers against his neck. “Oh gods. I know it’s wrong, but I need it.” 

Merlin’s hard prick bounces between them and releases without even being touched. Seed paints Arthur’s loosened breeches but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care. He can’t stop. Merlin stifles the roar of Arthur’s climax with his insolent, lush tongue.

***

“Who told you?” Arthur asks Gwen. She gazes levelly back at him.

“Does it matter?” 

Arthur suspects Leon, but no, he supposes it doesn’t matter. He shakes his head. 

“I want to see. To be there, so I can understand.” 

“With—” 

“Yes.”

***

Gwen sits near the bed in the candle-lit room. Merlin’s heart is beating so rapidly Arthur can see it tattoo against his ribs. 

“I’m so sorry, Gwen,” Merlin says.

Her look isn’t cold, but it’s not exactly pleased. “You sound just like Arthur.” 

It’s awkward at first, and their touches are tentative. Neither one of them is roused. But when Arthur presses his nakedness against Merlin’s, his kisses grow less tender, more desperate. Merlin moans and meets hard flesh with hard flesh. That delirium sweeps through Arthur, that one that eases away the ache and makes him whole. He slicks Merlin with liniment and inches his arousal into that tight sheath, and he can barely withstand the pleasure of it. 

All is madness. When Arthur turns his head, he sees Gwen’s own hand moving between her legs. Merlin sees too, when Gwen nods indulgently.

Arthur shudders against Merlin, melting into his body as Gwen moans.

***

“I understand now. I’m not happy about it, but I understand.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ll try . . .” 

Another lie, and from the shake of her head, Gwen knows it. “I don’t know whether to hate you, feel sorry for you, or envy you.” 

“All three?” 

There is a slight smile on her face when she embraces him. “Maybe. Maybe, let’s do that again.”

* * *

 **58.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Elyan/OFC  
 **Warning(s):** none

"Just looking for a few coins," Elyan had still said some time ago when he met others along the way, trudging just off the road, hoods drawn into their faces. Because it kept people from asking questions. They were all looking for the same thing after all: some bread, some wine, something to forget.

He kissed a girl behind the tavern, got his face between her legs before he put his cock there, and he told her, instead, about being a knight from some faraway kingdom. She believed him too as she felt his muscles and muttered into his neck, and he got some coins from her father for some help on the farm.

The knight turned into maybe something of a secret prince, royal lineage, at least, but in hiding _ssshhh_ , as he left villages in his wake and girls with it.

"It's a secret though," he said behind the barn into a girl's ear. Her husband was watching from across the way but he was only a farmer, so who was he to interfere in practically royal business? She went with him easy into her marital bed and spread her legs for him and maybe a spawn. A kiss goodbye at the door, and he was on his way the next morning with a few men he'd picked up along the way.

The tune he whistled was the one from home though, the one his father always had on his lips as he brought the hammer down on the iron, sparks flying. The one Gwen hummed when she brushed dresses and dreamed of having been born up in the castle and not down in the shitter with the rest of them.

"It is what it is," their father used to say when Arthur and his cronies of near-equal standing rampaged through the lower village just looking for a fight. "You are who you were born to be," his father would say and press a hammer into his hand to beat the iron while it was still hot and turn the other cheek.

He'd sneaked out in the middle of the night, told Gwen that he'd make it better for them, and set out to walk the roads of the kingdom. He was a miller's son one day, a foreign prince the next, and just someone looking for adventure in the middle, as he pleased.

The girl between his legs tonight was a barmaid, without husband and without family, and she sucked the cock of a mercenary, or so he had her believe. It came easy now, to pull a story out of thin air, harder to remember why he'd left in the first place and who he'd had left behind. She slurped at him, got her mouth down all the way to his balls while he beat the iron while it was still hot (while he still had stories inside him, people he was meant to be).

He'd go back eventually, he figured, as he took her from behind over the bar a few horses were tied to. She moaned with him. He'd go back to Gwen (thrust), and his father (thrust), and the god-forsaken village (thrust thrust) and he'd be someone other than someone's son and someone's brother.

Everyone deserved to be someone.

He spent himself inside the maid, and maybe she'd carry a child from it. He'd have mattered a little then at least.

* * *

 **59.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana, Arthur solo, implied Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Slight voyeurism, sexual fantasies, slight unwitting incest (Arthur doesn't know Morgana is his sister at the time)

Arthur tosses the blankets away, spreading across the bed in frustration. He can't sleep; the night is only finally starting to cool off, and he feels tense and restless. There is a meeting the next day, one that promises to be long and boring, and Arthur can't afford to arrive late, appear distracted, or fall asleep during the meeting, not with his father watching him like a hawk and so much hanging on the treaty, so he really does need his sleep. 

He has options. He can go to Gaius, request a potion. But that is quite dangerous, and he might not be all that alert when he finally does rise. He can go for a run, work off some energy. But that's also risky, and it doesn't guarantee he'll sleep. His other option, though... Arthur raises his head from his pillow, looks down at his cock, and grins. His other option is perfect.

Arthur reaches between his legs, cupping his balls before taking his cock in hand and stroking. He stiffens gradually, and Arthur settles back against his pillows, closing his eyes as he continues to fist his cock.

Merlin is the latest person to enter his fantasies and Arthur usually tries to avoid those fantasies, because he knows just how wrong they are. But that night, of all nights, it's impossible to resist.

Arthur pictures Merlin as he was earlier that day, whispering with Morgana. Now there is a picture that is only marginally better, Morgana being his father's ward and a lady. His hand even stills on his cock. And yet-

"What they don't know can't hurt them," Arthur whispers, resuming his strokes. Merlin and Morgana, with their dark hair and pale skin and light eyes - it would be hard to figure out where one ended and the other began, their bodies pressed together. Morgana, despite being a lady, would push Merlin down and climb on top, pinning him down with slim hands. The picture of them, together, makes Arthur draw in a sharp breath, and he quickens his strokes. 

Morgana would lean over Merlin, her breasts in his face, and he'd latch on to her nipples, sucking and teasing, while Morgana lowered herself over his cock. And when she was finally seated on Merlin, they'd both moan. Merlin would let Morgana set the pace, at first, but Merlin's no retiring wallflower there for Morgana to control. Arthur knows all too well how Merlin likes to fight back. He'd take charge, or at least attempt to take charge, possibly by rolling them over, and settling between Morgana's thighs, her legs around his hips.

Arthur wonders how much experience Merlin has, if he knows what to do with a woman. He imagines it's not a lot, but for the sake of his fantasy, Merlin knows just how to push into Morgana, just where to touch her, to make her cry out and shudder around his cock. He'll pull out and come over Morgana's stomach, not wanting to get her pregnant. 

Just as the Merlin in his dreams comes, Arthur tightens his fist around his cock, feels his balls pull up tight, verging on orgasm. He thinks of Merlin's face, lax with pleasure that Arthur put there - _Morgana_ Arthur thinks, frantic - and explodes. The orgasm is surprisingly strong and when it finally abates, he feels like he spent forever coming. It's almost too much of an effort to clean himself up, but Arthur does because he doesn't want Merlin to notice - that would be awkward. How could he ever face Merlin without wondering just how he would look, lax with pleasure and breathless with exhaustion? No, far better to clean himself up.

(Sleep is surprisingly easy to manage after, however. Arthur absolutely doesn't make a note of that.)

* * *

 **60.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** None

Gwaine's first training session as an official knight of Camelot is rough. Arthur runs rings around poor Percival, darting underneath Percival's large arms as if they were actual tree boughs. Gwaine can barely believe Arthur is wearing all that armour, he's so fast. 

“Who's next?” Arthur asks, helping Percival back to his feet. 

“Me,” Gwaine says, swinging his sword up. Arthur nods once, all tightly held control and stands in the centre of the field. Gwaine walks over and stands in front of him. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“And go!” Leon announces and Arthur jumps into action. He catches Gwaine off-guard, but Gwaine's fought in far worse conditions and soon manages to defend himself. 

They parry well, the ringing of their swords harsh against Gwaine's ears. Arthur is grunting with exertion, face set with determination and Gwaine thinks that Arthur is incredibly attractive like this, and that Gwaine is very glad that they are on the same side. 

Gwaine's thoughts are distracting and that is his downfall. He slips and Arthur takes advantage of it, slipping under his defence and dropping him on the floor. 

Gwaine lies there, muttering up at the sky. He can here cheering and jeering from the men. He resists the urge to make a rude gesture. 

Arthur appeared in his line of sight, not looking as smug as Gwaine had expected. 

“You got distracted,” he said. “Keep your head on the field, not in the tavern.” 

“I wasn't thinking about the tavern!” Gwaine protests as Arthur helps him up. 

“Then I dread to think what you were thinking about,” Arthur replies. 

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Gwaine mutters, bending his head close to Arthur's. “I think you'd be very interested in what's on my mind.” Gwaine doesn't look back as he walks away, swaggering a little. 

**

There's a knock on Gwaine's door that night. 

“Come,” he shouts, turning to see his visitor. Arthur walks in, looking every bit the noble king. Gwaine stands up straighter. 

“Sire,” he says.

“Gwaine. I wanted to talk to you about training today.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. He assumes he's going to get a talk about appropriateness and he can't be arsed with it and is going to make Arthur work for it. 

“There's a time and place for comments like that, and the battlefield is not one of them, Gwaine.” 

“I'm sorry, I'll keep my inappropriate thoughts to myself until an appropriate time presents itself. When exactly is the appropriate time?” 

It's a gamble, Gwaine knows, but he doesn't care. Arthur has more than enough space in this conversation to back out of this. Arthur rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smirk somewhere in his eyes. 

“Well, in private,” Arthur said, advancing on Gwaine. Gwaine tilted his head. “And only if you mean it. It's...inadvisable to joke about these matters.”

“Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“Exactly.” 

Arthur's standing right in front of Gwaine now, and Gwaine's _nervous_ , which is ridiculous. He wants to say something foolish to break the tension but his mind is a blank slate of lust and shock. Fucking Arthur, he thinks. 

“Now, I think we're in an appropriate setting. So, why don't you tell me what you had on your mind today?”

Gwaine swallows, throat dry. “I could show you,” he drops to his knees and Arthur gasps above him. 

Gwaine unlaces Arthur's britches, tugging Arthur's half-hard cock out and stroking it. Arthur swore as he got fully hard, and Gwaine looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes. 

Arthur was flushed, eyes dark and Gwaine grinned before leaning forward, taking Arthur into his mouth.

Gwaine closes his eyes as Arthur's cock rests heavy on his tongue. He sucks at it gently, vindicated when one of Arthur's hands cups the back of his head, tugging him closer. 

Gwaine's own cock is a steady press against his trousers, and he shifts a bit, trying to relieve the pressure. He grips at Arthur's cock, moving his head up and down. Arthur groans and his thighs shake. 

It's hard to grin when someone is coming down your throat, but Gwaine give it a good go. He cleans Arthur with his tongue until Arthur takes an unsteady step back. He's even more flushed, bottom lip swollen from where he's bitten it. 

“That's far more appropriate,” he says, breathlessly.

* * *

 **61.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Percival  
 **Warning(s):** None

The first time the knights dispersed to private rooms with serving wenches on their arms, Percival gave the girl a peck on the cheek, a coin for her trouble, and climbed out the window. It was better than trying to explain his lack of experience. Everybody assumed from looking at him that he wasn't a virgin, but they were always wrong.

Every time after that, he made sure he got the same girl. She was sweet in her discretion and probably relieved she didn't have to sleep with him to have bragging rights about bedding a knight. Though the others teased him about his fidelity, all he had to do to divert attention from awkward questions was goad Gwaine into sharing details of his adventures.

The plan worked until the night Merlin caught him.

"You weren't being held prisoner in there, were you?" Merlin said.

Percival nearly stumbled at Merlin's unexpected appearance. Of all the people to find him...and how did he explain this? As he struggled to come up with a story, he pretended to brush dirt from his trousers, furious that his hands shook in Merlin's presence.

"It's all right." The teasing had gone from Merlin's voice, replaced with something softer, gentler. "I won't tell."

He glanced up, surprised. "Not even Gwaine?"

Merlin grinned. "Something tells me, especially not Gwaine."

This was why he liked Merlin so much. Nobody else understood the way Merlin did. 

"What do you do instead?" Merlin asked.

Embarrassed Merlin knew about the knights' night out, Percival flushed and shrugged. "Sneak back to my room."

"Want some company?"

In his head, the answer was a resounding yes. How many times had he fantasized about having Merlin in his bed? Feeling him writhe as he mapped out every plane and angle of his body? Sucking his cock until Merlin buried himself in Percival's throat and emptied his balls? But then reached the point where it was Percival's turn to get off, and the dream would end because Percival couldn't get past his nerves about what he should do next.

He couldn't say no, though, not when he'd wanted this since coming to Camelot. With a nod, he headed back to the citadel, Merlin silent at his side.

At his door, he fumbled, too large, too clumsy, too everything. He was about to tell Merlin thanks but no thanks, when a warm hand slipped inside the back of his shirt and Merlin pressed to his side.

"It's all right." Merlin's lips ghosted the words along Percival's bare arm. "I won't tell."

The shudder that went through Percival undid him. Merlin was the one to push the door open, the one to guide Percival inside, the one to sequester them in solitude. When his hands dropped to work at Percival's trousers, Percival finally found the courage to take control.

"Not like this."

He scooped Merlin over his shoulder and headed for the bed before his knees gave out on him completely. Merlin's laughter ricocheted inside the room, filling it with the warmth Percival had always craved.

He was still smiling as Percival stripped him. Though Percival's cock ached, he focused on the bounty he'd finally been given, inches upon inches of pale perfect skin to taste and lick, peaked nipples to suck and bite, sharp juts of bone and smooth curves of unexpected muscle to savor. He ignored the long shaft with its glistening crown peeking out from the foreskin as long as he could, but even that became too much to resist.

When Percival sucked the tip into his mouth, Merlin arched away from the bed with a strangled cry. The bed shook, once, hard, snapping Percival's attention away from their pleasure and straight to Merlin's glowing eyes.

The world shuttled away, leaving just them, just that moment, just this discovery.

Merlin froze. Percival's heart pounded, harder than it ever had for battle. He was not the only one with secrets. He wasn't the only one pretending to be something he wasn't. He should've been terrified, because magic was everything he'd been told to fear, but he wasn't.

Because this was Merlin.

His body no longer trembled as he stretched to cover Merlin's body with his. Carefully, he caught Merlin's wrists in a single grip, twisted them against the bedframe to get them out of the way, and bent to kiss Merlin the way he'd wanted from the start.

"It's all right," he whispered, pouring his heart into his vow. "I won't tell."

* * *

 **62.**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Morgana  
 **Warnings:** (unknowing) incest, consensual humiliation

Arthur approaches Morgana after the feast. She smirks at him but lets him link their arms and lead her back to her chambers.

"You were quite lucky," she says when they are almost to her door. "If that servant hadn't been there, you would have been killed."

Morgana knows full well how her words will affect him, yet Arthur can't help his reaction. His voice turns gruff. "I would have dodged either way. I _am_ a trained knight. The best knight in all of Camelot."

"If all of our knights need saving from servant boys, then I fear for Camelot's safety!" 

Her mocking infuriates Arthur, heats his face and makes him feel unworthy, but still he takes care when he grips her arm and forces her into her chambers. He shuts the door behind him, and Morgana procures the key to lock it.

"Must you antagonize me every time?" Arthur asks when she turns to face him.

Morgana wraps her arms around his neck. "If you are looking for a docile, obedient woman, there are many simpering ladies still by the feast hall, waiting for their chance to snag the great Prince Arthur."

They both know that Arthur does not want a docile, obedient woman. Her words excite him the way nothing else can, and every humiliating word she throws at him causes his cock to twitch. In public, he lashes out, because he cannot have the world know that the Prince of Camelot enjoys being mocked by a woman.

Here, in private, he lets Morgana lead him to the bed. She pushes him down onto it and lays next to him, her elegant fingers undoing the string on his breeches. Arthur groans when his cock is given freedom, and Morgana laughs. 

"Were you hiding that the entire time? After that servant saved you, were you thinking about how useless you are? How Uther watched you get rescued by a mere commoner?" She accentuates her words with feather light touches, and it shouldn't be this arousing to him, but he can't help it, he wants _more_.

Arthur reaches out and pushes the fabric of her dress aside, so that one breast is exposed, and begins twirling his thumb over her nipple. Morgana hmms in approval and her hand on his cock stutters for a second, giving him firmer contact, but then she moves her hands away altogether.

"I'm not sure you even deserve any of this. Mayhap I should be rewarding that servant! He did, after all, single-handedly save Camelot, all while the Prince lay around doing nothing!"

The thought is disgusting and appealing all at once. He doesn't want to see Morgana with anybody so beneath her station, but the servant was pale and dark-haired, just like Morgana, and Arthur can imagine how beautiful they would look together. "Make me watch," he blurts out, and he's unsure if he meant to say that out loud or not.

Morgana's smile widens. "Of course I would. I would have you sit on that chair, right over there, and tie you-- no. You would have to sit there and watch of your own volition, and know that no matter how much you wanted it, you'd never come even close to equal to a simple servant."

She sits up and pulls her dress up past her thighs, giving Arthur a clear view of her cunt. He stares, mesmerized by her, until she clears her throat and says, "Well? Get on with it. It's about the only thing you can do right."

Arthur scrambles to obey. He breathes in deeply, enjoying the scent of her musk, but her hand on the back of his head urges him forward. He licks and sucks, concentrating on that one small bud she taught him about. He remembers the first time, when she told him that he was _terrible_ , because he didn't yet know how to give a woman pleasure, and even those insults made him hard.

Morgana is pleased now though, because her words have lost coherency. He pushes one finger inside her and wishes that could be his dick, with her walls pulsating around him. He increases the pressure, curls his fingers and licks until she is gasping and shuddering.

Once she stills, she pushes him away. "Finish yourself," she says, and Arthur begins to stroke himself. Morgana knows that he prefers it like this, that he doesn't want a hint of kindness.

He spills all over himself, ashamed at how much he enjoys being worthless.

* * *

 **63.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Public sex, intercrural sex, 

In the Stands

The spring sun beat down on the field. There was an air of excitement as townsfolk and nobles alike gathered for the first contest of the year, the Tournament of Squires. It was a casual affair – the King himself stood at the fence during the Pages' Rounds, cheering and laughing as young boys clashed wooden swords and lacquered shields. Uther soon retired to the stands with Morgana and a few nobles, but the prince, Arthur, had eschewed the formality to join the common-folk lining the field.

Arthur found a shady spot by the south stands where he and his new manservant, Merlin, gained a clear view of the field. Squires Tomas and Theodore nodded solemnly as Leon, the Master of Ceremonies, reviewed the rules.

Squire Theodore was a tall, comely teen whose bout drew a bevy of giggling admirers. They lined the fence, shouting and flirting outrageously as Theo's cheeks coloured with pleasure.

Arthur chuckled, guarding his personal space as young ladies (and perhaps a few matrons) packed the lawn between fence and stands. The prince soon found himself pressed back towards the boards by the throng.

A hand pressed solidly against his back, propelling him forward. Turning, he found his servant shrinking tightly against the boards, arm raised to fend off Arthur from crushing him. With an apologetic grin, Arthur shifted a step forward. The look of profound relief on Merlin's face puzzled him, but his attention was drawn back to the field as a clash of steel heralded the Squires' engagement.

The young men danced across the field with promising agility, and Arthur followed their progress with a critical eye. Theo's footwork was deft, but he was too aware of his audience, more flash than substance. Tomas's relentless press drove him back. With a shout, Theo recovered his ground in a rush, driving his opponent against the fence, and as one, the crowd startled back from the rails. Arthur was knocked back abruptly, and he stumbled until Merlin's hands steadied him. Before long, the innkeeper's wife and the washer-woman crowded him again, and he was again driven back against Merlin. 

Glancing behind, he was struck by the look of fear on his manservant's face. Of course his buffoon of a servant would manifest a fear of crowds. He gripped the man’s arm reassuringly, and Merlin gave a half smile, his body stiff with discomfort. 

More towns-folk poured onto the green, and Arthur found himself defending Merlin's small square of space against the generous backside of the washer-woman, while the surge of the crowd pressed Arthur back into Merlin repeatedly. It soon became pointedly apparent why his manservant had been guarding his personal space so assertively.

Arthur quirked a grin, allowing the washer-woman to press him back hard against Merlin. He peeked over his shoulder to confirm Merlin was mortified, blinking in terror like a deer caught in the lanterns of a night-time hunting party.

Arthur arched back mercilessly, dragging his backside down along the length of Merlin’s ill-timed erection. The man was rock-hard, generously long, and Arthur wriggled to position the length of him into the crack of his arse. He let the ebb and press of the crowd set the rhythm as he rocked back against his servant.

As Arthur’s intent became clear, Merlin slowly grasped Arthur’s hip bones, pulling him against Merlin’s length, long fingers digging into his abdomen.

Beneath the press of the crowd, Merlin grew bolder, dipping under the hem of Arthur’s long shirt to fumble at his laces. He grasped Arthur’s cock, giving it a stroke before yanking Arthur’s trews down his hips. He felt the wet tip of Merlin’s cock press into the narrow gap between his thighs.

Appalled and delighted by Merlin’s boldness, Arthur squeezed his legs tight and allowed the servant to rut against him, gasping into his ear. Soon he felt the hot sticky trickle of Merlin’s release run down between his legs. The servant tugged Arthur’s cock frantically, and Arthur lifted his shirt to paint a white stain down the washer-woman’s voluminous skirts.

A shout rose from the crowd as Tomas vanquished his opponent. The fickle attentions of the young ladies turned tide as they rushed the field to shower the young squire with meadow flowers. 

Stepping forward to congratulate the victor, Arthur made a note to praise his servant for an unheralded efficiency at tucking them both neatly into their trews before their indiscretion became known. 

Perhaps this disaster of a manservant might work out after all.

* * *

 **64.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** none

The quilts on the bed have a stale cupboard smell, and the pitch of the roof cuts so steeply into the room that when Merlin asks, Morgana lets him switch the pillows around to the foot of the bed. The only place he can stand up straight is just inside the door, and he doesn't fancy braining himself on the ceiling in the middle of the night.

There's a wind outside, sometimes quiet, sometimes sounding like wolves in the eaves. They'll want to wrap up as they continue their travels tomorrow. It's a cold autumn.

“I’m guttering the candle," Morgana says, pausing by the table at what is now the foot of the bed. The top of Merlin's head bobs. He's lying on his stomach, face mostly hidden under the covers, one arm hooked over his pillow. He doesn't reach for her in the dark, and she doesn't reach for him, but when she slides between the sheets her hip fits above his knee, warm.

Morgana doesn't feel sleep coming, and that's all right, sometimes she likes her nights better without it anyway. Her head is full of tomorrow, and a place far beyond this border hamlet and the reach of Uther's fist. Tomorrow they'll learn something, she and Merlin. They'll learn something and it will be something new, because it'll be something the rest of the world has forgotten.

She listens to the wind for a while, and the occasional faint noise from downstairs. They're staying the night in rooms over a tavern, a ratty old place where they've so far remained anonymous. When there's nothing to hear but the wind and the dry bone scratch of leaves on the roof, she knows closing time has come and gone. 

It's still too long before dawn.

In Camelot there sits a king who does not deserve to rule. He condemned an innocent child to die; last night she and Merlin saved the Druid boy and took him to his people, and in the doing confessed to each other truths that would have their heads on the block as well. 

Morgana wonders if Merlin's sleeping. She can't tell, doesn't know the signs, thinks he could probably fool her easily, if he wanted. She rubs her fingers over the back of his neck, through the soft, wayward hair there. He doesn't move, doesn't twitch. His breathing doesn't change.

Merlin's as ready for tomorrow as she is, that Morgana does know. She'd told him her dream of an isle made of magic, a stone altar dedicated to the power of the Old Religion, and his eyes had gleamed gold.

Between the two of them, the Isle of the Blessed will hold no secrets back.

Morgana hasn't shared a bed with Merlin before, but there are things that she knows. When he rolls to her in the night, hard, she lets her fingers go low. There's no sense of discovery or surprise when she slips inside his breeches and takes his cock in her hand; she's known this length, this thickness, in dreams she's never examined in daylight. Merlin's fingers grip her shoulder when she begins to stroke, and he bucks forward when she presses against the head, gathering wetness on her fingertips.

She holds his cock tight to her stomach, and lets him thrust. His breath is wild, and Morgana wants to drag his cock lower, press it between her legs, but she knows better than that. She'll make him return the favour later, and she's patient, waiting for it, arching her back to rub her breasts against his chest in the meantime, teasing her own nipples against his chest like a thief, because he's either too unsure or too distracted to do it himself.

When Merlin's body jerks and stiffens, he lets out a moan that's familiar, for all Morgana has never heard it while awake. She smiles to hear it now, and even wider when it becomes clear Merlin is eager to touch her; he hikes up her gown and dips his long fingers between her thighs. He's not artful, but he is careful, starting slow and letting the heat build until Morgana's blood is pounding and she's squeezing tight around his hand, pressing her hips up higher and higher. She's not quiet, and she doesn't care. They don't need to be, she and Merlin. They need be nothing but themselves.

This world will hear from them soon enough.

* * *

 **65.**  
 **Pairing:** Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning:** half-sibling incest

i.

Morgana keeps everything from Morgause in a tiny box of dark wood inlaid with ivory. There isn't much--a few short letters, gently curving penmanship on scraps of paper; a few pieces of jewelry, simple and finely wrought; and a ribbon of silk that she'd wear wound in her hair or around her neck if not for the fear of losing it. 

She keeps them in the box not only to hide them away from the world but also to hide them from herself. A rare preciousness permeates them that Morgana is just beginning to understand and that she fears could overwhelm her.

ii.

When Morgause calls Morgana sister, the world slips from her mouth so easily as if she's been saying it all her life.

Perhaps she has; perhaps she's kept the knowledge and memory of Morgana hidden away, strange and precious, and has said the word to herself a thousand times over, giving it a different meaning each time. 

When Morgause calls her sister and touches her, fingertips trailing over Morgana's face down her neck to her breasts, Morgana shivers. She leans into the touch, begging for the warmth of Morgause's fingers and lips, for the security and certainty that nobody has ever offered to her. 

iii.

"The throne of Camelot will be yours," Morgause says, her blond hair falling down her back as she unpins it, "but that's not the most important thing." 

Morgana stretches her hand toward Morgause to beckon her to bed. Sunrise is still a few hours away and the candles in their bedchamber have melted into pools of wax. "Not the most important thing tonight."

"No." Morgause sits down on the edge of bed to let Morgana disarm her--boots and mail and gauntlets, all the physical trappings of power that she hardly needs to keep her safe, her magic is that strong. "Not tonight, not any night."

Once she's stripped down to her tunic and breeches, Morgause tugs Morgana down onto the bed with her and kisses her lips, just softly. Then she kisses Morgana again, this time with force and passion, her tongue sliding into Morgana's mouth and her hands sliding up to cup Morgana's breasts. Her kisses remain firm, and even become rough as she mouths along the curve of Morgana's breasts, teeth skimming over the nipples and tongue dampening the thin shift Morgana wears. 

Morgause has the body of a warrior, slim and strong, but it's her magic that Morgana feels when Morgause touches her like this. Magic, and the shape of her own name on Morgause's lips when Morgause licks inside her. She brings Morgana to climax so fast and so hard that Morgana cries out, dizzy with the rush of sudden need. 

iv. 

Sometimes she hears a kind of reverence in Morgause's voice, a wonder and disbelief that Morgana is there with her, that she is hers to call sister and to hold at night. 

Sometimes, she thinks, for Morgause, she is an unfulfilled promise or prophecy, a possibility that has not yet come to fruition: the sister she grew up without, the sorceress she's waited years to find. 

Morgana's never had a sister; she's never had anyone hold her hand quite that tight, as if they could lose her at any moment; she's never had anyone she needed to be this close to, whose blood thrummed in their veins the same way Morgana's did in hers. Someone whose meaning in her life could be summed up in one word with a thousand different meanings. 

v. 

There is one letter that Morgana had to burn lest anyone find it. The scrap that's left is charred along the edge, the paper brittle and the ink faded with heat. 

It doesn't matter that the context is missing, because there is no one context for them that Morgana needs to recall. 

_You are the most important._

* * *

**66.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Master/servant relationship, the attendant dubious consent issues that go with that, but no coercion or dodgy intentions on the part of either party.

Merlin has been Arthur's manservant for nine days (not that Arthur's been counting) the day he flaps the covers back and Arthur sits up and has to casually pretend he's not entirely aroused. He's a healthy adult, a knight who gets a lot of daily physical exertion - is it so surprising that his body functions as normal? His _last_ manservant used to just stolidly ignore things like this.

His last manservant was some fifty-odd years old and married, however. _Merlin_ is Arthur's age, delicately-built but ferociously and gloriously insubordinate. A challenge. And Arthur wants him. 

Merlin stares, and clears his throat. 'Do you need help with that, sire?' he asks. His voice has dropped to a register lower than Arthur thinks he has ever heard from Merlin before. 

'No, I -' Arthur starts, but he does, he _wants_ and too late he realises that this is dangerously close to droit-de-seigneur, that Merlin is dangerously close to him, that Merlin's expression is not one of fear, that his knees are starting to tremble -

Merlin looks at Arthur measuringly for another moment and then slides like silk to his own knees. He braces his hands on Arthur's thighs and spreads them, apparently intent on Arthur's cock and not on Arthur's shocked, sudden gasp for breath. 

'Merlin -'

But Merlin resists Arthur's attempts to cover himself, leans forward, and presses a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the crown of Arthur's cock. He pulls back, licking his lips, and his tongue flickers out, testing-tasting-taking, his fingers clamp harder on Arthur's skin, so hard that there will be marks, ten points of contact Arthur could never have got from combat, ten points of pressure he will have to keep secret, and Arthur jerks hard into Merlin's space, unable to help himself.

Merlin smiles like a cat - the expression uncurls across his face - and this time his filthy kiss is open, licking, and Arthur is incapable of moving, frozen in pleasure, as Merlin kneels up taller, tall enough to slide his mouth down and around Arthur's cock. 

His hair tickles at Arthur's belly where he is clenched tight and almost-panicked. Arthur wants very very badly to fist his hands in that hair and feel as if he has some kind of control over this, but it would be a lie and Arthur refuses to lie to himself.

Merlin hums. His teeth scrape just the tiniest touch against Arthur's most sensitive places. Arthur can feel himself - see himself - pushing up against the thin-stretched skin of Merlin's cheek. 

This was not what he thought would happen when he gained a new manservant. 

Merlin strokes Arthur's thighs and hips as if he was trying to quiet a horse. Arthur feels as if he cannot be quieted. He trembles and sweats and fights not to break control of himself, even if he cannot control anything else - he will not grab, he will not force, he will not _take this_ , and so he clenches his fists in the bedsheets and moans, unable to help himself. 

Merlin pushes himself forward even further, forward and down, and his shoulders are resting against Arthur's knees, keeping them spread, and everything is hot-wet-soft-pressure, Arthur's eyes are screwed tight shut and yet something sparks like stars in the darkness, and he feels one of Merlin's hands let go of his hip, and then Merlin's shoulder starts to jerk against him, rhythmic like the hot rush of Merlin's breath against Arthur's belly-skin, like the roll of his tongue down the shaft of Arthur's cock, and Arthur realises that while he isn't taking he also isn't giving either. 

And then Merlin moans, shakes, helpless and muted by Arthur's cock, and Arthur is gone, down that dark, warm path to completion. When he rouses, Merlin is sprawled over his lap, licking his lips (catlike again) and smearing one wet hand over Arthur's thigh. 

That wet mark stays, at least in Arthur's mind, even after Merlin has regained his composure and helped Arthur dress. Even after breakfast and his father's orders and the donning of padding and armour. Even after training, riding, sparring, Arthur cannot stop thinking of Merlin. 

He deflects himself, and calls Merlin the worst manservant ever, but he knows now that Merlin can already read him better than he can read himself, and hopes that Merlin knows his lie for what it is, and tastes the praise beneath it.

* * *

 **67.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

It seemed an unexceptional day when he woke. Merlin opened his eyes and stretched. Scratched at his belly. Swung his legs out of bed and dressed. 

But Gaius had a hot breakfast prepared for him when he came down from his room. Merlin smiled, confused. 

“Happy birthday, Merlin,” Gaius said, greeting him with a tight hug. Merlin laughed, squeezing back and happily tucking into a plate of eggs that tasted like they’d been fried in pork fat. He moaned at the outrageous luxury. 

“Did you steal this from Arthur?” he asked, mouth full. 

“Of course not,” Gaius said. “I had Morris do it.” 

+

When Merlin reported to Arthur’s rooms, he was further surprised to find Arthur already awake and dressed. 

“Merlin,” he said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “A little bird told me today is your birthday.”

Merlin smiled, pleased to be remembered. Then he grew suspicious. “It is,” he hedged. 

“In that case, I’d like you to have the day off,” Arthur said, with all apparent sincerity. 

“Really?” 

Arthur’s brows pinched. “Yes, really — what kind of master do you take me for?” 

“A...very kind and generous one!” Merlin grinned. 

+

Word seemed to have spread everywhere. Cook let Merlin nick a fresh roll without swinging her ladle at him. He found several baskets of wildflowers in his room along with a note from Gwen promising to sneak away for an afternoon swim. Leon gave him a small boot knife and appeared buoyed by Merlin’s delight in receiving it. 

When he and Gwen returned from the lake, Gwaine had snuck an entire barrel of ale into his room, which sat surrounded by blossoms. 

Merlin rubbed his fingers over his heart, trying to smooth the sharp, sweet feeling growing in his breast.

\+ 

By evening Merlin didn’t believe the day could get any better, and his suspicions looked likely to be confirmed when Arthur summoned him. Amused, Merlin set down his cup of ale and tucked the flower he’d been twirling behind his ear, loping his way toward the royal wing. Leave it to Arthur to forget the very gift he’d given. 

When he saw Merlin approaching, Arthur collected something from his desk before striding across the room. “Merlin!” He ushered him inside, shutting the door behind them. “You weren’t at training today,” he said, looking put out. 

“You told me I had the day off,” Merlin said.

“Yes, but training is fun.” 

Merlin lifted a brow, pressing his lips together. Arthur cuffed him about the ear. 

“Here,” he said, handing Merlin a letter. “Your mother wrote, asked me to give this to you on your birthday. She wasn’t sure it’d arrive on the correct date. Didn’t seem to trust Gaius not to give it to you the minute he received it, not sure why,” Arthur trailed off, watching Merlin gently unseal the letter and read it. 

“Seems you’re well-loved wherever you go,” Arthur said, smiling when Merlin quietly refolded the worn paper. 

Struck, Merlin looked up from his hands. 

Some quality of the firelight, some softness in Arthur’s bearing compelled him, and he wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, tucking his face into his neck. 

Arthur’s surprise was tangible. Abruptly, his stiffness gave way to a warm embrace. 

“Thank you,” Merlin said, finding it difficult to draw back, nosing along the line of Arthur’s jaw in his reluctance to separate. 

Their eyes caught. Merlin heard Arthur’s breath hitch. 

“Merlin,” he said— 

—and they were kissing, wrapping _in_ , struggling against the boundaries of their own bodies. Merlin opened his mouth, breathing out the swell of hot emotion rising within him, leaving himself vulnerable to Arthur’s advance. He bore them back, up against the wall, framing Merlin with his shoulders and his sure, firm hands at Merlin’s jaw — steadying him for the offering of his kisses. 

Arthur’s hips shifted and fit — fit up against Merlin’s, making Merlin’s hands fist in Arthur’s tunic. Merlin’s mouth went soft and surprised, back arching, Arthur’s lips skimming his cheek. 

“Merlin,” he said, combing his fingers through Merlin’s hair, tightening his hold like a point of focus, a tether. “Before you, I never marked this date—” he said, and Merlin bucked, gasping against him, drawing Arthur’s forehead to his own. 

“Now I think I’ll never forget it,” Arthur breathed, running his thumb over the ridge of Merlin’s brow. 

Merlin froze, scrabbling for purchase, riding the tide of Arthur’s hips and succumbing to the wave as it peaked.

* * *

 **68.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** none

Merlin ached when Gwaine smiled at him. He had tumbled into their lives in the tavern and had ended up in his bed shortly after. When he checked on him one night, the handsome man had grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the small bed with him.

Merlin knew he wanted this for a long time. He had been fooling around with Will back in Ealdor, but nothing had ever happened but touching and when Merlin had come to Camelot, there was only one man he would have loved to explore further with. But the clotpole was too stuffed up to even notice that he existed. 

And then Gwaine came along and the longing was back. So Merlin didn’t mind one bit when he had kissed him and slowly stripped him out of his clothes. Gwaine’s kisses made his head spin and the gentle, determined touches made him participate eagerly. Of course it had hurt when Gwaine pushed into him, but his magic had pushed the pain aside and it was the most fantastic thing he’d ever experienced. Later, they exchanged sweet gentle kisses and Merlin didn’t get tired to run his fingers over the muscles in Gwaine’s arms and chest and run them through the wonderful long hair. He couldn’t get enough of those soft lips and the slight scratch of Gwaine’s stubble. If he moaned like a cat in heat when Gwaine took him again, it so wasn’t his fault. Gwaine just did all those wonderful things that Merlin hadn’t even imagined in his wildest dreams. 

So what if he could barely walk the next day? Or the day after that? So what if his lips were swollen and red from all the kisses? So what if he couldn’t take his neckerchief off or else anyone could have seen the marks Gwaine had left? Merlin didn’t care, even though he blushed furiously at Gaius’ raised eyebrow. 

He desperately hoped that Arthur would find a way for Gwaine to stay, despite Uther’s ban. Gwaine had to stay, he needed him to stay. He even considered leaving with him. Be free of the burden of his destiny and just wander Albion with Gwaine, carefree as they could get. 

But then they were standing in Gaius’ workshop and Gwaine said his good-bye and Merlin’s heart was breaking. He heard Gwaine talking about how he never stayed long anywhere and that he was going to Mercia. Mercia! It was dangerous there! Merlin had swallowed his tears and hugged Gwaine, certain he’d never see him again.

As he stood at the balustrade with Arthur, his heart got a bit lighter when he saw Gwaine flirting with Gwen. He knew he could never hold a man like this. So maybe it was better that he left. 

When they walked back to the courtyard and Arthur bumped shoulders with him, no matter what Arthur said about noblemen and commoners , Merlin knew that everything would be alright. And nobody could take the memory of those few wonderful days with Gwaine from him.

* * *

 **69.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Mordred/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** N/A

The injured Druid Merlin brought into Morgana’s chambers for safety was only a few years younger than she was, but the connection she felt with him was instantaneous. It was something she’d never had with anyone else.

Most of the time, he rested, never speaking, but Morgana found that when no one else was in the room with them, they tended to just stare at each other silently, drinking in the other’s features. He had blue eyes, curly hair, and he made her feel things.

She wished she knew his name.

-

His wound was infected.

Merlin tried to treat it, but it hadn’t seemed to do any good; his fever was getting worse, and there was only so much Morgana could do. He was _dying_ , she knew, and it squeezed at her heart, painful and real. She couldn’t keep calm, even with Gwen’s presence at her side.

 _Morgana_ , came the voice.

Morgana stared at the man in surprise before turning to look at Gwen. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Gwen asked her in confusion.

“He said my name.”

“Did he? I didn’t hear anything.”

But he had. Morgana was sure of it. His voice was low, and smooth, but there wasn’t any time to think about it, not with Merlin coming in to see how he was.

“Whatever you did yesterday hasn’t worked,” Morgana said. “We have to ask Gaius for his help.”

The man would die otherwise, and Morgana _refused_ to let that happen. She breathed in relief when Merlin went to fetch the physician, and watched anxiously as Gaius treated him.

He would live.

-

The Druid was getting better every day, and not even the thought of Uther hunting for him could take away Morgana’s happiness at that fact.

“Once he’s recovered, we need to get him out of Camelot,” Merlin told her, as the man slept peacefully behind the curtains.

Everything in Morgana was _screaming_ at her to say no, but she knew it was unreasonable, and so instead she nodded. “Once he’s better, we’ll come up with something.”

Merlin nodded and left the room.

 _I don’t want to leave you_ the voice echoed through her mind, and Morgana whirled around to look at him. He was still lying in the makeshift bed, but his intense gaze didn’t waver from hers.

Morgana couldn’t suppress her desire for him any longer as she threw the curtains aside, straddling him effortlessly, placing her hands on his shoulders.

He hissed in pain and Morgana gasped. “I’m so sorry!” she said. “You’re injured, I shouldn’t...”

But the man shook his head; instead of saying anything in return, he threaded his hand through the hair at the back of her head and drew her in close, pressing a heated kiss against her lips.

Morgana immediately lost herself in the kiss, his hands stroking at her neck sensually as he nipped at her lips. She could feel his length pressing against her, and Morgana could feel herself growing wet in response.

Then his hands were on her thighs, under her dress, and Morgana’s breathing quickened, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes,” she gasped out between kisses, and then her dress was being hitched up and he was entering her.

The feeling was almost overwhelming, but it was still incredible as he thrust shallowly into her, his cock rubbing against her clit. She leaned down to kiss him deeply, grinding her hips and rocking to meet him thrust for thrust.

His hand came around her waist, holding her firmly as she rested her own hands against his chest, stroking lightly at the tattoo that marked him. She clenched down tightly around him and shuddered at the feeling as he groaned in pleasure, and then he was spilling her seed into her.

Morgana moaned at the feeling, throwing her head back as her own climax hit its peak before she fell against him, her heart racing.

 _You’re beautiful_ , he told her, and Morgana flushed, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, sincere.

-

That night, after he fell asleep, Morgana sobbed silently into her pillow, knowing that he had to leave, and also knowing that even though it would destroy her, she could not go with him.

* * *

 **70.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Leon  
 **Warning(s):** Canonical character death

Gwen tells him herself.

The weight of her own grief is heavy, but she pushes it aside to do her duty. 

Leon's eyes are wide and his emotion, though tightly restrained, is clear to her. He doesn't say a word, though, merely drops to one knee before her.

“Your Majesty,” he says, voice low but steady.

She offers him her hand and he kisses the ring that now sits permanently on her finger.

There's a moment, when he stands - he catches her hand for the briefest moment and squeezes it. And in that moment she wants to break down, wants to let herself cry and scream and let him comfort her. 

“Come,” she says instead. “There is much we need to discuss.”

***

What she feels for him is different to what she felt for Arthur but, she thinks, no less real. It's quieter and steadier – with no overbearing, expectant father or the weight of a whole kingdom on his shoulders – she feels calmer in it, more secure.

She sees him looking sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, feels him stiffen slightly when their hands brush against each others in the everyday course of things. 

Gwen knows he would do anything for her – he's proved himself time and time again in the last year, he's been an unshakeable constant since Arthur's death. His devotion to her is as unwavering as it was to him.

But she doesn't want this for the kingdom. 

Gwen wants him for herself.

*

“Your Majesty, I - ”

“Gwen,” she tells him. She stands back from the door and gestures for him to enter. “When it's just us, please, Leon. I'm still – just Gwen.”

She's wanted to tell him that before, but some part of her was waiting for him to do it on his own.

“Gwen,” he says, smiling. 

She doesn't mean to, she hadn't planned to, but Gwen kisses him. She's tired of waiting. 

He hesitates for a moment before kissing her back and _oh_ , it's so good, it's better than she'd imagined. His beard is rough against her cheeks and his hands are unbelievably gentle on her waist. 

“This isn't – you don't have to - ” she stutters against his lips when she pulls back. She needs him to know that this isn't another service required of him by his queen. 

He touches her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lips. “And if I want to?” he asks, no slyness in his voice.

She kisses him again.

*

He's strong. Gwen knew that, but it's one thing to see it in training, to sense it underneath his chainmail; it's another when he picks her up effortlessly and carries her to her bed, kissing her deeply the entire time.

And for all that his hands are remarkably deft as he undresses her, and then his mouth warm on her neck as he slides his hand between her legs. 

It's been too long since she's had anything but her own fingers, and Gwen doesn't bother to bite back the moan as he touches her, sliding down the bed to kiss her breasts, and then her stomach, moving until he's kneeling between her legs, his beard tickling her inner thighs.

“Gwen, can I - ”

“Yes,” she gasps, not waiting to hear the end of the question. He laughs softly, and then leans in and kisses her cunt, licking into her with deft, broad strokes. 

It takes her barely any time before she's shuddering and crying out, fingers tangled in his hair, and he eases off. When he crawls back up the bed to kiss her, she can feel him hard against her thigh, and she takes him in hand, stroking him until he's gasping, mouth slack against hers.

*

“Stay,” she tells him afterward. “I mean, you don't have to, I'm not ordering you to, I just want - ”

He kisses her in reply, thankfully, putting an end to her bumbling. It's been a long, long time since she felt like that earnest, awkward girl, but somehow, now, she does. It's a strange sort of relief, to know she hasn't lost all the parts of who she was

“As long as you want me to.”


	4. Group D (warnings)

**71.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con/Non-con, depending on how you interpret it, hate!sex, bondage

Missing scene from "A Servant of Two Masters"

* * *

**72.**   
**No header provided**

Merlin wanted so badly to tell Arthur how much he meant to him, after their last battle, but he couldn't find the words. So on a beautiful night he took him out onto the horizon, covered his eyes and whispered into his ear... "Make a wish on a shooting star.Maybe it'll come true"  
When the prince opened his eyes Camelot herself and the skies were ablaze in magic, and drawn in the stars, was Merlin's love for Arthur.

* * *

**73.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

* * *

**74.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

**I Thought We'd Lost You, Merlin**

* * *

**75.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None? I think. :)  
 **Description:** 4x06 alternate event : Arthur finds Merlin in Morgana's hideout still tied up. He's so happy he gives him a handjob. Also the ropes are a turn-on so he left them on during the whole thing.

* * *

**76.**  
 **Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin**  
 **Warning(s):** No Required Warnings  
 **Summary:** He dressed Merlin up as knight for bandit bait, but Arthur just can't help himself.

* * *

**77.**  
 **No header provided**  
I bet we all know what happened after 4x10 A Herald of the New Age.

* * *

**78.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** not exactly spoilers for s3 ep1 but has quote from the scene.

To Forgive a Friend  
"You don't know how much I regret everything I've done. I just... hope that you can forgive me."

* * *

**79.**  
 **Pairing(s):** Freya/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** no standard warnings

Canon AU where Freya learns how to control her shapeshifting.

* * *

**80.**  
 **No header provided**  
There is nothing more canon than sex on the round table... in a crown


	5. Group A (no warnings)

**1.**

"Oh." Leon averted his eyes, but the damage was done. He saw the Prince naked, hovering over his new manservant. The boy was soaked through with water, and on his knees. "Sorry for interrupting but several delegations have reach our borders for the tournament. They should arrive by mid-day."

"Thank you Leon. I'll be along as soon as I've finished my bath." Arthur growled.  
_________

Percival looked behind him at the very odd sight, and then over to Bors. "His servant's coming with us on the hunt?"

" ' _Mer_ lin', as the Prince says it, can not be trusted on his own and must come along for all expeditions now." Bors winked.   
_________

Geoffrey had wanted to see if Gaius would run out for a nip at the inn, something to take his mind off of his supposedly poisoned apprentice, but as he was about to knock, he heard the tell tale signs of something much more adventurous. Apparently the boy wasn't quite so ill if he could moan out Arthur's name like that.  
_________

"He cuts fresh flowers for Arthur, and wears a pretty blue dress for Arthur. Merlin sneaks into Arthur's chambers at every hour of every day." The serving girl whispered to the handmaid. "I even heard he hid under the prince's bed until the rest of the servants were asleep." 

"Any wonder Arthur chases him 'round Camelot like they were still first year lovers." The handmaid giggled back.  
_________

"Bring that to Merlin." As head cook, she could at least do this much for them. "He waited all night outside the Prince's chambers."

"Shouldn't we refer to Arthur as King now?" The handmaid questioned while picking up the tray.  
_________

Gwaine wasn't shocked. Merlin could barely keep his hands off of the King, but to make up a silly excuse during an important meeting?

"If you would just hold still." Merlin tackled a now half nude Arthur to the floor, groping at him the entire way down.  
_________

"Poetry?"   
_________

Gwen woke again to the sound of Arthur calling out for Merlin. She nudged her husband awake. "Go to him."  
_________

"I have magic." Merlin leaned forward after casting the spell. There was gold in his eyes, gold like all the times Arthur had denied seeing it.

Arthur was good at denial. He had heard the rumors about him and Merlin. They started almost immediately after Merlin became his servant. Arthur liked them. Liked the idea of his knights knowing Merlin belonged to him. Liked other servants knowing without it ever being said that Merlin was his to love. "I love you." 

"I tell you I have magic and you tell me that you love me?" Merlin smiled down at him. "I obviously should have told you sooner."

"Yes, you should have, and I should have told you 'I love you' before now." Arthur wheezed a little in the excitement of the moment.

"It's ok. We still have years for you to say it again." Merlin shed a tear that Arthur wiped away.

The kisses that followed weren't the sultry escapades of rumor, but the true statements of eternal love, and when Arthur's hands drifted lower to touch Merlin in a way that he had never allowed himself to dream about, Arthur found himself wishing they could all understand what this man has meant to him and what this moment means now.

"You should save your strength." Merlin tilted his hips into the touch anyway, so gentle, barely hovering over Arthur.

" _Mer_ lin, Shut up." Arthur pulled him closer, kissing the taught line of muscle at his neck. "Let me love you."

"Still spoiled enough to demand your way I see." Merlin brokenly teased. The hints of desperation in his voice tinged it all with a sense of finality that Arthur didn't want. Merlin's eyes flashed gold once more and Arthur's length was exposed along side that of his love's.

"We could have been having amazing magical sex for years." Arthur chastised, before pulling both their cocks together in his hand.

"According to the rest of Camelot, we have been." Merlin answered back through a moan.

It hurt to breath. It hurt to move. But in that moment Arthur held on to a bitter sweet laugh with his friend, and came beautifully hard with his lover.

* * *

**2.**

If anyone were to ask, George would tell them he had an unremarkable childhood. “Quite boring, sir and/or madam,” he would say.

Every morning, his mother would give him a crust of bread which he chewed methodically, while she rested in the now empty bed. Then he would pick up anything that was out of place and put it back where it belonged, and take their dirty cloth to clean the room. (He could not do much to help his mother, but he did it with dedication and precision, and sometimes, just sometimes, his mother would smile at him and call him her good boy. And George would experience what some call happiness. ) 

If he had woken during the night, due to drunken shouts below or the sounds of his mother plying her trade, he would not mention it. She worked hard, after all. 

If asked, George would tell anyone that a gentleman friend had taught him how to read, and that his mother taught him everything else he knew. 

But then, no one ever seemed to ask, anyway.

*

George worked hard and made his mother proud. She smiled at him the day they moved into their own tiny house. He breathed in and stood a little taller.

*

The day came he was called upon to serve the king; he made sure his collar sat just right, and showed him what exemplary service was like.

*

‘So you got to serve Arthur, then? If he threw something at your head, don’t worry, he does that to me all the time.’

George tried not to frown as Merlin polished the hauberk all wrong. Not everyone could get it right even after the fourth try, after all.

‘It was only a napkin, and I should have anticipated his highness would not be hungry,’ he offered.

Chatting with the other servants was one of the few things George perhaps didn’t excel at. He didn’t have many friends. Still, he always gave it his best try. 

‘Right,’ Merlin said, and silence returned, so George showed him how to do it again. 

‘You’re really good at this, aren’t you?’ Merlin grinned at him. 

George puffed out his chest a little. ‘I try,’ he said modestly. 

Half an hour later, it was clear that Merlin wasn’t good at this, or anything else as it turned out. George explained it all again, patiently, and felt rather good about himself. Something about Merlin’s loose smiles reminded him of his mother, on her best days. She always needed his help, too. 

He shouldn’t; he was aware that it would be highly inappropriate. But Merlin was chattering away and telling him all manner of outrageous things, and George didn’t have many friends. He mentally flipped a coin, and when Merlin looked up at him, George made a decision. 

He taught Merlin his own personal trick for how to polish a sword efficiently.

‘It’s really not that different,’ he found himself saying.

‘From when you…?’ Merlin said. ‘Huh.’

*

It turned out Merlin did that wrong, too. 

So George showed him. For some reason, instead of grasping himself, Merlin reached out his hand curiously and touched him. His fingers felt hot around George’s cock; he was clumsy, like in everything else he did. Instead of clean, efficient strokes, Merlin got the wetness at the tip smeared all over his fingers, petted him and toyed with him distractedly. 

George should set him straight, but he somehow forgot to. Nobody had ever touched him before, and when Merlin asked him, still grinning, ‘How am I doing?’ all he could do was choke out ‘There’s… some improvement.’

‘I’m good at this,’ Merlin told him, like it was a secret, and then he bent over and used his tongue.

‘You really shouldn’t use your tongue for sword cleaning,’ George said, and when Merlin laughed, his breath puffed over George’s cock and sent another shiver through him. 

*

‘You know,’ George said later, sated and a little too relaxed, ‘The king doesn’t have much of a sense of humour, does he? I complimented him on his brass balls, and he didn’t even seem to understand.’

Merlin laughed and laughed. ‘You know, I think I like you after all.’

George never did get to regret his decision.

*

When Merlin asked him to be Mordred’s manservant, George of course accepted. 

And when the time came for decisive action, he didn’t hesitate, even if did not quite fall within his job description. He was the best, after all. 

At being a servant, and at being a friend, too.

* * *

**3.**

“I know your secret.”

Merlin felt his throat constrict and the room came in and out of focus. His knees almost buckled at Arthur’s words. This couldn’t be real. He tried to form words but couldn’t. 

As Arthur stalked towards him, Merlin found his voice. “What are you talking about?” If Arthur knew about his magic, he had no idea how Arthur would react.

“I know you lied to me, Merlin. Gaius told me everything.” Arthur explained.

Merlin blinked slowly. “Gaius?” Gaius would never betray his secret. 

“I talked to him a few days ago. I knew you were upset about something and I was worried...” Arthur faltered for a moment as he looked down. Merlin almost thought he looked embarrassed. “Your work was becoming sloppy, and considering how wretched you are normally that’s frightening. So I asked him what was wrong with you. It took a lot of prodding but he finally told me. You met some girl and you were going to run away together but then she left you behind.”

Merlin was finally able to breathe again. This was about Freya. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. “Yes.”

“How could you do that, Merlin? You were just going to leave without saying anything?” 

Arthur’s glare faded and even though Merlin could see he tried to hide out, Arthur looked hurt. For some reason this made Merlin’s anger flare up.

“Why does it even matter to you? I’m not irreplaceable. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding someone else’s back to step on.” Merlin said with a bitterness that he hadn’t been prepared for. 

“After everything I’ve done for you, I would think you would at least do me the courtesy of saying a proper goodbye.”

Merlin could feel the steam that came out of his ears. “After everything _you’ve_ done for me?” He threw back his head and roared with laughter. 

“Would you like to share what you find so amusing?”

Merlin shook his head slowly. He didn’t want to fight with Arthur anymore. “If you want to know the real reason I wanted to leave it’s because... for the first time I found someone who really understood me and didn’t make me feel worthless. She needed me and I could just be myself with her. And even though she’s gone-” He choked back tears. “I don’t think I should settle for less.”

Arthur gaped at him and his eyes searched Merlin’s face but he didn’t seem to be able to say anything. It didn’t matter he wouldn’t be able to tell Merlin what he wanted to hear anyway. 

Merlin just smiled grimly at Arthur before he turned to leave. He had barely got the door open before it was slammed shut. 

Merlin could feel Arthur’s warmth as he stood behind him. Arthur panted and Merlin could his hot breath against his neck and Merlin shivered. But he couldn’t turn to face Arthur. Merlin finally turned around and when he looked in Arthur’s eyes he almost gasped at the sight of tears in Arthur’s eyes. 

“You’re not worthless, Merlin. I...Merlin...”

The next thing Merlin knew Arthur’s lips were against his and his back was pressed against the door as Arthur kissed him with such passion it stole Merlin’s breath.

Merlin wanted to stay mad at Arthur, he wanted to push him away. He tried to resist for a moment, but he couldn’t hold back a needy moan when Arthur’s lips parted against his briefly. 

He could feel Arthur’s gentle tongue against the roof of his mouth and his cock began to stir. Arthur could feel it too and he ground his hips against Merlin’s. Merlin fisted his hands in Arthur’s hair as he felt the outline of Arthur’s hand length through his trouser. 

Merlin fumbled with the laces to Arthur’s trousers. Arthur batted his hand away and practically tore them off. Merlin let out a breathy gasp when Arthur turned him around and pressed his face up against the door.

Arthur made quick work of Merlin’s pants. Merlin’s fingers scrambled for purchase against the door when he felt two wet fingers breach him. 

“I’m ready. Please, just do it.”

Merlin felt Arthur thrust inside and it was the most delicious pain he had ever experienced. The pain quickly melted away and Merlin just felt at peace and just felt utter joy.

“Oh, God Merlin. I’m so sorry. I need you.” Arthur panted against his ear.

Merlin almost felt embarrassed at how quickly he came after he heard those words.

Arthur pumped into him with three more hard thrusts before he spilled inside of him.

Arthur fell against Merlin’s back and panted into his ear. Merlin felt dizzy and as if he could sleep for a week, but he also   
never wanted Arthur to stop touching him. He knew finally that Arthur was truly his home and he would never leave him.

* * *

**4.**

_How Percival ended up accompanying Lancelot to Camelot - the untold story_

Lancelot guided his nervous horse through the village, once a welcoming oasis, each step giving rise to confusion as he surveyed the smoldering ruins. Only a fortnight before all had been well. Now all sounds and signs of life had been silenced. No animals, not even a chicken strutting across the road, no children screaming and playing, no villagers going about their daily work, no drunks spilled across the pub’s threshold; the village was home only to its ghosts.

Every fiber of his being urged him to leave this place and its lingering aura of horror. And he would’ve, if not for the clang of an axe and the crash of a tree as it fell. Someone was still here, and they’d best have an explanation for this.

Lancelot rode through the last empty street and to the road beyond. It was beside this road that he saw something that brought him to a halt; row after row of graves, each staked with a fresh new wooden cross. The man responsible paused, chest bare and axe in hand, and stared at Lance for a moment. Then he returned to his task, the sun beating down on his reddened back, sweat glimmering across overtaxed muscles as he forced a new cross into the ground, driving it home with the last swing of his axe. 

Lance had never seen a more beautiful, nor tragic sight in his life. He watched and waited, a silent witness. 

Finished at last the man fell to his knees and bent his head for a long moment, then mounted his horse and urged his horse into a gallop. Lance found himself following, curiosity and a fire deep in his groin urging him on. 

He caught up with the man at the river just in time to see him slide off his horse. Lance pulled to a stop and dismounted, but something held him back. The man pulled off his boots and breeches then stood at the river’s edge, water lapping at his bare toes. Lance gulped, torn between looking away and absorbing every detail he could, every flex of muscle, the play of the sun’s last rays across the broad shoulders, the taut curve of the man’s arse. Lance’s cock ached with shocking force but he was frozen to the spot, hesitant to disturb the man’s right to his despair. Then the man spread his arms out and fell into the water. He didn’t come back up.

* * * 

“Percival,” the man said later as he sat hunched under Lance’s spare blanket in front of the makeshift fire. He was still naked, as was Lance. He hadn’t stopped to pull off his clothes when, after a moment’s incredulous hesitation, Lance had realized the man’s intent and put a stop to it. 

“What happened to your village, Percival?”

Percival stared off into the night sky and said, “Death.” Then he turned and held Lance’s gaze, the flicker of the campfire dancing across his tormented face. “Cenred.” 

He knew the name, and the reputation. Anger suffused him. “I wish I’d been there sooner. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Percival stood, and let the blanket fall to the ground. Firelight bathed his naked body, his powerful thighs cradling his heavy erect cock. “There is.”

Once again Percival fell to his knees, his plea silent. Dumbfounded for only a moment Lance went to him, accepting Percival’s desperate mouth on his cock. Lance fucked Percival’s mouth, making him gag, his fingers digging into Percival’s shoulders until he came. He too fell to his knees then and turned around, spreading his legs and beckoning Percival enter him. Percival didn’t hesitate, tearing Lance apart with pleasure and pain both as he slid home. All of Percival’s pain and sorrow pounded Lance into the dirt but he took it, accepting this was what Percival needed, and he was more than willing to give. 

* * *

Every morning as Camelot grew closer he expected Percival to be gone but he remained, his pain a silent burden assuaged only at night in Lance’s arms. Finally he asked where Lance was going.

“Camelot.” 

“To be a knight?”

“To help a friend. Come with me.”

Percival said nothing for a long moment, his gaze on the road ahead. Then he nodded and for the first time since they’d met, Percival smiled.

* * *

**5.**

Morgana dreams the future in stunning clarity. The tonic Gaius gives her intensifies her vision, makes nebulous images stark. Her dreams are full of violence, _madness_ , because Morgana would _never_ …. She watches herself torture Gwen, sees terror fade to madness in Gwen’s eyes, and Morgana screams herself awake.

“My lady,” Gwen says, her voice cracked with weariness. She wraps her arms around Morgana, her warm scent soothing. “It was only a dream,” Gwen coos as they rock, and Morgana needs to believe it. She pulls Gwen down, pushes her onto her back, curls her hand around Gwen’s neck.

“I will never hurt you,” she says, and Gwen merely nods. Morgana wants her to understand, so she lifts Gwen’s skirt and kisses up her leg. “I want you to be mine,” Morgana says, the feeling overwhelming as she runs her nose between Gwen’s thighs.

+++

Morgana dreams. Arthur is wounded, and Merlin cares for him with profound love, his grief unbearable to behold. Morgana is weeping when she awakens, and Gwen shushes her with kisses, a steadying hand on Morgana’s belly—the same belly she later sees Merlin slide a blade into. In the daytime, Merlin smiles and stammers and blushes at her, carefree.

Morgana doesn’t understand what could make her hurt any of them until Morgause comes to her, brings a hand to Morgana’s cheek, and Morgana feels _known_. They kiss in the forest and on a rickety boat and in stone temples. She lets Morgause slide fingers inside her, the way Arthur did clumsily when they were young and Morgana was boy-shaped, the way Gwen does still, careful and loving. Morgause’s touches are full of power, full of _magic_ , and it’s intoxicating to be near her.

+++

When everyone falls asleep around her, Morgana realises that Morgause has done something to her. Arthur is fading and Merlin is just a boy in love and out of options. When he offers her water, Morgana drinks. She drinks the poison and lets Merlin hold her.

“I forgive you,” she chokes out. Because she understands.

+++

Morgause takes Morgana’s dreams away, and she feels blinded. Morgause makes her feel like she can never go home, like the magic blossoming in her will always make her Camelot’s enemy. She learns everything she can about magic, because if she can’t have warmth, at least she can have power. She forgets her love for Arthur, and for Merlin, the boy who will someday kill her. She tucks Gwen away somewhere safe, preserving the last bit of light in her life as long as she can.

+++

“Do you love me?” Morgause asks, grinding her cunt against Morgana’s.

“I love you.”

Morgause’s smile is wicked, and Morgana can’t help imagining the sweet curve of Gwen’s mouth, the open adoration in her eyes. Morgause sends waves of pleasure across Morgana’s skin, makes her come.

“Can anyone else do this for you?”

Morgana thinks of Gwen’s bitten lip, her work-rough fingers sliding into Morgana’s body like she’s something sacred, and yes, Gwen could do this to her with just the press of her breasts against Morgana as they kissed like lovers.

“You fuck like a warrior,” Morgana says, and Morgause’s grin shows that she takes it as a compliment. That she doesn’t know Morgana at all.

Morgause falls asleep first, and Morgana removes the enchanted bracelet, wanting to see Gwen’s face again. She dreams the future of Camelot, when Arthur is dead and Merlin is gone. She dreams of Gwen, sees into her broken heart, watches her lift the ban on magic, and Morgana wakes with pride and gratitude swelling inside her. She curls around the body beside her, and it isn’t Gwen.

+++

When Morgana finally returns to Camelot, Arthur has started courting Gwen with pretty words and gestures. But Gwen is hard with him, prickly in her wariness. Morgana smiles because only she knows the softness of Gwen’s heart when she’s in love, the trembling clutch of her fingers, the smell of her arousal as they ride one another, slick across Morgana’s belly. She finds Gwen later, presses her down into the bed, says, “Marry him. Become my queen.” Gwen nods and kneads Morgana’s arse, pulls her up and uses her mouth to soothe away the aches of Morgana’s absence until only Gwen remains, bright and beautiful, worthy.

“I missed you,” Gwen says later, her eyes wet and hands restless on Morgana’s face, her hair.

Morgana believes her—believes that Gwen will be the one to save them all.

* * *

**6.**

"Draw me a bath," Arthur ordered Merlin as he walked off the training field, stripping off his gloves and thrusting them into Merlin's chest. "And help me with this mail."

Arthur didn't miss the roll of Merlin's eyes as he stripped the armor off of Arthur's body and shoved it at a squire.

"I'll let the kitchens know," Merlin said, hurrying off as Arthur went to check on his father. 

There was no change in Uther, as usual, and Merlin was pouring in the last steaming bucket just as Arthur strode through the door to his chambers, pulling off his sweat streaked tunic and kicking at his mud-caked boots. 

"Clean those up," he ordered as he stepped out of his breeches on the way to the tub, but it was halfhearted, his weary body already anticipating the warmth of the bath.

Arthur sank into it with a grateful moan, letting the water soothe his aching muscles as Merlin puttered around the room, trying to look busy.

"Stop messing about and come wash my hair," Arthur commanded lazily. Merlin snorted, but came over to massage suds over Arthur's scalp as he sank deeper in the bath.

"Good training today?" Merlin asked softly and Arthur only hummed, leaning back into Merlin's soothing fingers.

Arthur was pliantly relaxed after rinsing and finally climbing out. He dried himself briskly and then turned critically to Merlin.

"When's the last time you bathed?"

Merlin held his hands up in front of him. "Last week."

Arthur pursed his lips, but discarded the towel and strode over to the bed, sprawling across the coverlet naked, his cock heavy between his thighs. "Attend me."

Arthur's eyes were closed, but he knew that the soft rustling sounds were Merlin undressing.

Merlin snorted very close to him, and then his hands were on Arthur's thighs as he settled between them. 

"Just so you know," Merlin said quietly, and Arthur looked at him, naked and stretched out between his legs. "I don't do this because you order me to, but because I enjoy the taste of your cock on my tongue." He leaned forward to lick at the head of Arthur's cock, once, twice, and then looked up to grin impishly at Arthur's moans. 

He was teasing, as always, and Arthur glared at him, his thighs falling open wider. "Come here," he demanded, and hauled Merlin up for a filthy kiss, thrusting his tongue into Merlin's mouth and fucking him with it before pushing him down again.

"Well?"

Merlin chuckled against his groin and laid a sloppy wet kiss on Arthur's shaft, sucking a little as he made his way downwards. 

Merlin's mouth was warm and wet and Arthur moaned, his heels sinking deeper into the bed. Merlin hummed against his balls, using one hand to jack him loosely and the other to hold down Arthur's straining hips.

"Not today, love," Arthur heard him whisper and he whimpered, tossing his head back against the pillows. After a long day of working the men he _needed_ it.

"Shh," Merlin soothed him, his fingers tracing circles against Arthur's hip. "A little wider, please, that's it."

Arthur's thighs began to ache with the stretch, but he didn't care, because Merlin was licking down past his balls and then circling his hole with his tongue, lapping at the entrance and sucking at the edge. Arthur groaned deeply at the sensation, yelping and thrusting his hand into Merlin's hair as Merlin breached him, the other hand scrabbling and clutching at the bedsheets. He pressed down with his hips, trying to get more as Merlin fucked him with his tongue. 

Arthur nearly sobbed when Merlin pulled back to breathe, hips instinctively humping at the air, before Merlin entered him again, this time with a finger. Merlin licked at him slower, his tongue a smooth glide as his finger reached, searching, before massaging at the spot that made Arthur see stars, pleasure rolling over him, choking him. Not being able to stand it, he reached for his cock, jerking it fast and ruthless, the flesh hot and hard beneath his fingers. The desire came to a point, of tongue and fingers and friction, and Arthur gave a strangled yell as he tipped over the edge, his body tensing inwards, thighs taut around Merlin's shoulders.

Shuddery and loose, Arthur dropped backwards onto the pillows and Merlin crawled up to kiss him, sweetly, their tongues tangling.

"Clean me up," Arthur mumbled between kisses and Merlin grinned, leaning down to lick up the come spattered over Arthur's fingers and stomach.

* * *

**7.**

Arthur sank deeper into the water, hot but not scalding, just the way he liked it and Merlin somehow managed these days. With his right hand he tugged his cock leisurely, enjoying the pleasure rising slowly. Though he enjoyed ordering Merlin to scrub his back to watch him squirm and swallow protests, it was also nice to have these moments to himself, to release the tension of the day. It was the first delegation of Mercia since he'd become king and he'd been running himself ragged. He couldn't risk any faux pas and may have reminded Merlin of this on a daily basis. Remembering Merlin's flushed face and open mouth as he dragged in the last barrel of water for Arthur's bath; Arthur increased the speed of his strokes. Perhaps he should give Merlin a day off when this business with Mercia was over...

At that very moment, the door to his chambers flew open and the manservant in question ran into the room. 

"Merlin!" Arthur removed his hand from his cock with a splash.

Looking flustered and alarmed, Merlin marched up to him.

"Did you tell Ronald he could have me?" Merlin asked brusquely. 

"Prince Ronald?" Arthur asked, trying to deduce whether Merlin or Camelot were in any acute danger. 

"Yes!" Merlin said, "I overheard him bragging to his friends about... you _lending_ me to him."

Arthur was confused, "Yes, well, I told you to look after him. It wouldn't do the negotiations any good if he were dissatisfied in Camelot."

"So it's true then," Merlin said, sounding bitter and upset, "I won't do it, you know," Merlin continued, and Arthur was shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes. "I'm not a whore."

Looking back, Arthur was surprised how long it took to put the pieces together, especially as Merlin was such a recurring sexual fantasy. He recalled Prince Ronald's remarks about Merlin, when Arthur agreed the man could 'borrow' his manservant for a while. Ronald had mentioned Merlin's 'hidden talents' and Arthur had laughed, saying he was certain Merlin had no hidden talents except maybe the talent for getting into trouble. But as it was sinking into him, what Ronald had _really_ meant, his cock twitched, interested after having been neglected since Merlin's interruption.

"You're getting off on this!" Merlin said accusingly, eyes unashamedly dropping to Arthur's nether regions. 

Arthur quickly covered himself with his hand but when he saw Merlin's furious face, he quickly held them up again in a placating gesture. "Merlin, you know I would never treat you like that," Arthur started coaxingly, "I was only talking about laundry and stuff, not _that_... I never would have... That wouldn't even cross my mind!" Arthur swallowed hard, thinking about those times he's wanted to pull Merlin closer when he was undressing him, or pull him into bed after the candles were dimmed.

"Because I'm repulsive and a peasant?"

"You're beautiful and if Ronald ever touches you, I will have him flogged and thrown out of the kingdom." Arthur said with vehemence, only realizing belatedly how that may have sounded.

Merlin blushed a deep red, looking at Arthur with curiosity rather than reproach.

Arthur looked away, thinking about how to conceal the truth. "We're not exactly on equal footing, I would be abusing my power to get you to... you know." It was his turn to blush.

"You pompous arse," Merlin responded, "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much."

In one uncharacteristically graceful move, Merlin was kneeling by the tub, hand hovering above the water "So you _have_ been thinking about me," Merlin reached for Arthur's cock through the water, "checking me out when I turn my back."

Merlin's hand on his cock felt incredible and all the things that _should > be said or discussed evaporated. _

"Here I listened to Ronald," Merlin continued, stroking him quick and hard, "telling his friends that you've grown tired of me, that you'd gotten bored of taking my impetuous mouth and tight hole, when in fact, we haven't even scratched the surface."

Arthur groaned loudly, head falling backwards as he closed his eyes against those tantalizing mental images. Vision hazy, he looked back up at Merlin who was smirking in victory as his cock pulsed and pleasure wrecked his body. 

"But you only allowed yourself to dream about me," Merlin said softly in the aftermath, "when all you needed to do was ask," and with that, Arthur greedily accepted Merlin's kiss.

* * *

**8.**

“I’m going to push in now.”  
“Yes, do it, please.”  
“Was that an actual ‘please?’”  
“ _Mer_ lin!”  
“Alright, let me just—ah, there we go.”  
“Oh gods, that’s—“  
“Yeah. Yeah, Arthur, you’re so tight.”  
“Is that all, then?”  
“Eheheh, oh no, my lord, there’s much more where that came from…”  
“Oh my—fuck—Merlin!”  
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”  
“…”  
“Arthur?”  
“…”  
“ARTHUR!”  
“Give me a fucking minute, Merlin, I already told you I’ve never done this.”  
“Are you—I was only asking if it—Fine, yes, by all means take all the time in world, Your Majesty.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Alright, I think…can you move now?”  
“Are you sure Your Royal Pratliness don’t need another few seconds?”  
“ _Mer_ li—oh fuck, yes, _yes, Merlin_ , just like that, oh _gods_.”  
“Oh, does the king like that? Does the king maybe want a bit more of that?”  
“Yes, _please_.”  
“Well, since you asked so nicely...”  
“Ah, ah, how are you even—“  
“Bend over a bit more. There we go.”  
“Oh!”  
“Yeah, th-there it is.”  
“What _was_ that? How did—oh, oh yes, _yes_ —“  
“Let’s just say some of Gaius’s anatomy books have a few detailed diagrams. Very detailed.”  
“Is that…is that what you’re always going on about when I—“  
“Yes.”  
“I always wondered—“  
“Now you know.”  
“Can you…again?”  
“Mmm. Maybe ask one more time, a little more politely?”  
“Merlin, I will not—yes, please, _please_ , do that again.”  
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, sire?”  
“Oh gods, Merlin, I hate you so much right now.”  
“Are you quite sure?”  
“M-Merlin!”  
“Hmm. Yes, I think your cock says otherwise. And I must say, your arse seems to be clenching me rather eagerly. Not to mention your hips coming back to meet me like a common whore.”  
“Merlin, I swear, I will put you in the stocks and give the children potatoes again.”  
“I knew that was you!”  
“Alright, alright, I apologise, but come on, Merlin, don’t stop.”  
“Pig-headed, arrogant, ass.”  
“What was that?”  
“Nothing.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“!!!”  
“That wasn’t a very kingly noise, was it?”  
“Yes, well, it’s—oh, _oh_ —not a very kingly position, is it?”  
“And yet it suits you so well.”  
“I’m fairly certain that’s treason, Merlin.”  
“Oh? What are you going to do, make me stop?”  
“Now that _would_ be treason. Don’t you dare stop, Merlin.”  
“I—fuck—wouldn’t dream of it.”  
“I would like to try something different, though.”  
“What’s that?”  
“Do you remember the night of your birthday?”  
“Oh. Oh yes, that was…rather amazing. I’d have to pull out for that, though.”  
“There’s no way to reposition without—“  
“’Fraid not.”  
“Ugh. If you must.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Alright, now just—let me hold it—now just slide right—yeah, there you go. Oh, look at you, you beautiful creature.”  
“Merlin!”  
“Ahaha, you’re blushing! Do you like when I call you beautiful?”  
“…”  
“You do, don’t you?”  
“This never leaves my chambers.”  
“Of course not, sire. Now just sort of…like you’re riding a horse at a gallop and—oh fuck, _yes_ , perfect.”  
“It’s so…so…”  
“Deep. Yeah.”  
“Oh gods, _Merlin_.”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“No, don’t…touch my cock and I’m done, Merlin. I want…want this to—“  
“Yeah, yeah, alright, I—“  
“Where’s the—how did you—“  
“Find it yourself.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Want some help?”  
“Mmm.”  
“Lean forward a bit. Put your hands just here by my head. Now just shift your weight a bit…no, no, twist your hips a little—“  
“!!!”  
“That’s it, love, now you’ve got it.”  
“Oh gods that feels so fucking good.”  
“Mmm, yeah it must. Your eyes just rolled back in your head.”  
“How can you ever…is this what I do to you every time?”  
“Y-Yes.”  
“I don’t think I ever want to stop.”  
“Ahaha, we only have so much oil, Arthur. And I’ve got to come sometime.”  
“Are you…just as close as I am, then?”  
“Y-Yes.”  
“Alright, I guess…yeah, just…touch me.”  
“…”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“!!!”  
“…”  
“…”  
“That was incredible, Merlin.”  
“You were beautiful, Arthur.”   
~~~  
“MERLIN!”  
“What is it, my lord?”  
“Find me that dollophead. I have a council session to attend to. Does he expect me to dress myself?”  
“Fetch Merlin from his chambers.”  
“He’s not there.”  
“Check the armoury.”  
“I’ve done that. No sign of him.”  
“Where else could he be?”  
“You tell me!”  
“When did you last see him, my lord?”  
“Last night!”

* * *

**9.**

Arthur never knew why he didn’t notice it clearly before. All the signs were there. Merlin’s disappearing without a good excuse. They way he kept himself to his tight circle of friends. Or the the fact he’d never boast about his nights with wine and women, like his friends, Arthur’s knights would do. But, it wasn’t until Guinevere gave away Merlin’s secret, that he was off seeing a girl, that Arthur realized how _wrong_ that statement sounded.

First, Arthur, theorized that it was because he never _saw_ Merlin with a woman. Sure when he first came to Camelot, Arthur thought he had a crush on Gwen and Morgana. Arthur even teased him about it. But, after Leon reported the scene, he saw, when he entered the balcony, how Merlin was grieving over the body of a young man, that it clicked.

Arthur, came to the realization that Merlin preferred male lovers. 

If his father was still king, Merlin would have been banished or put to death, depending on how his father found the information. Uther had little tolerance for anything he deemed freakish or immoral. But, Arthur knew Merlin for years. He was a loyal friend. 

A friend that only hours before was holding the dead body of his lover, and was now serving dinner. 

Wishing that Merlin would confide in him, Arthur tried to get him to talk, first he expressed how much he owed the young man for saving his life, hoping that Merlin would tell him something. But all Merlin did was tell Arthur _he_ was going to bury the body. Not see that task was done by another. 

So then Arthur tried to goad it out of him, “Oh so you can visit that girl again?” 

“What?”

“A girl.” Arthur dragged out the R’s in a singsong way.

“Don’t have one,” Merlin said in a lowered voice standing at the sideboard, but Arthur still heard him.

His comment about Guinevere, being the one to tell Arthur, seem to struck a nerve in Merlin. The look he gave Gwen, was filled with hurt and anger. Of course, they had been friends years before Gwen became the Queen. He had told her in confidence, and she had told Arthur as much earlier that day. 

“Well, you can tell me all about her, and why you are limping,” Arthur tried to get Merlin’s attention, baiting him once again. However, this backfired, when Merlin told him there was nothing to tell and excused himself from their dinner.

___________________________________________________

Merlin’s mood didn’t brighten over the next few weeks. He stayed watchful, quiet and distant, and more so around Gwen. Arthur never thought he’ll be saddened over a man _not_ paying attention to his wife, but at one time they had been friends. 

Arthur noticed other things too. Like Mordred seemed to be courting Merlin. Arthur watched Mordred follow Merlin, sometimes pulling him into a hallway or a alcove to whisper his affections. At first he thought, he would have to step in and talk to Mordred, but Merlin always seemed to handle it fine. Plus, how would he go about it? Merlin may be his manservant, but was also his friend, so be kind?

But there was another problem that surfaced with the Merlin discovery. Arthur found his mind would drift to unsavory thoughts about Merlin. 

It started when Arthur was thinking, how did Merlin get that limp? Had he received it in the assassination attempt, he would have told Gaius. What if he got it from his lover? Men were stronger than women, so maybe they were less gentle in bed, with each other?

Arthur’s life was sheltered, when it came to how same sex lovers worked, be he _had_ seen many male bodies during training, and could make some educated guesses on _how_ it was done. 

And those guesses, metamorphosed into dreams when Mordred entered the picture. Arthur would see Mordred holding Merlin down, in his dreamscape. Arms pinned above his head, sweat soaked skin moving in that age old pattern. Mordred call out Merlin’s name, as Merlin grunted, eyes clenched. 

Arthur would awaken, glad he never saw Merlin’s eyes, or hear him called out another man’s name.

Because Arthur wanted it to his name. He wanted to be the one to touch Merlin in an intimate way. 

And the fact he was having these thoughts while his wife slumbered next to him, did nothing to stop them.

* * *

**10.**

Merlin made his weary way to the Prince’s chambers, slowly opening the door and stepping inside. Closing it behind him, he sighed in frustration as he took in the mess before him. Tunics were strewn everywhere, there are a pair of trousers -- ripped, of course, _Damn it, Arthur!_ \-- hanging from the back of a chair at the table. Grumbling under his breath about idiot pratfaces who can’t clean up after themselves, he grabbed the basket beside the wardrobe and started trying to bring order to the chaos. 

Digging a belt out of the hearth -- how did that even _get_ there in the first place?! -- Merlin placed the basket of laundry outside the door and made his way to the bedchamber. It was a good time to change the linens, seeing as Arthur was off with hunting with his knights for the next few days. Merlin eyed the bed for a minute, considering. 

It had been a very long day. He’d been run ragged by Gauis, out to the forest in the early morning for herbs, up and down and all around the castle to deliver medicines, and then all over the lower town, checking in with the ill and the elderly. Arthur’s bed looked so very tempting, and who was Merlin to resist temptation.

Laying down, Merlin stretched out with a satisfied moan. Burrowing his shoulders into the plush mattress, he let himself relax for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. Turning his head, he buried his nose in Arthur’s pillow, drawing in the scent of his Prince and let it flow over him. 

Arthur had laid in the very bed just this morning, sleep-rumpled and sated, having just finished himself off. The scent of his orgasm hadn’t even had a chance to fade before Merlin was throwing open the curtains and chivvying him out of bed, and the memory of that had been on Merlin’s mind off and on all day long. 

Now, he allowed the image to wash over him and felt himself start to harden. Reaching down between his legs, he stroked idly at his hardening cock, allowing his mind to wander to thoughts of Arthur performing this same act just a few hours ago. Cupping himself, he allowed the coarse material of his trousers to create a delicious friction until he was fully hard and could no longer stand it.

Lifting his hips, he stripped and scrambled at the drawer in the side table, where he knew Arthur kept a vial of oil. Coating his fingers, he wrapped them around his cock and stroked, moaning breathily as he imagined not his hand but Arthur’s sliding slowly up and down the length. He dragged his other hand lightly up his belly, pausing briefly to rub gently over the skin above his belly button. 

Continuing up, he flicked the tip of his finger over a nipple, but frowned at the lack of stimulation. A second later, he drew his fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking until they were dripping wet, then circled his nipple again. Only it wasn’t his finger anymore. It was Arthur’s tongue, rubbing and lapping it into a stiff peak; and his fingernails were Arthur’s teeth worrying gently at the pebbled flesh and sending a frisson of pleasure straight to his cock. 

Merlin gasped and moaned, but it wasn’t quite enough. Leaving off his nipple play, he trailed that hand back down his body and wrapped it around his cock, stroking in counter to the one already there. His hips bucked up into his hands, and he gasped and moaned, his head tilting back into the pillows as the pleasure built higher. Oil dripped down toward his balls, and his hand followed it, rolling them between deft fingers before tugging lightly as he continued to writhe. 

He could feel himself getting very close to his orgasm, but somehow, he couldn’t quite reach that edge. Frustrated, he sped his stroke and bucked harder. His fingers slipped in the oil, finding his hole. He slid the tip of one inside and wailed a bastardized version of the Prince’s name as his orgasm crashed over him. 

Coming down, he rolled to his side and smiled as his release slid down the planes of his stomach and joined Arthur’s long-dried come on the sheets.

* * *

**11.**

_“What are you doing in here?”_

_“Got bored of playing soldiers. And I’d thought I’d come and see how you were.”_

_“Busy.”_

_“Doing what?”_

_“What do you think!? Looking for Gaius.”_

_“I know everyone thinks he’s a traitor, but he’s not. He’s been abducted, Gwaine. He may even be dead.”_

_“Probably don’t need my help then.”_

\--

They’d found Gaius—mostly unharmed, though quite exhausted from the whole ordeal—and Merlin now had another ally against Morgana. Things were especially looking up, and he wasn’t even bothered when Arthur cheated him out of a morning off. Well, not too bothered at any rate. The nights were still his after all.

Speaking of knights…

The hesitant smile plastered to Merlin’s face turns into a full-blown real one as he meets the cheeky expression of one Sir Gwaine leaning in the doorway to the his chambers. 

“Fancy seeing you here, my friend,” and for a second his expression turns serious, “How’s Gaius?”

The relief from finding his mentor safe and bringing him back shows clearly on Merlin’s face. “Good. He’ll be a few days off his feet, but I expect he’ll be back to badgering me to collect herbs in no time.”

They share a fond laugh at that. Practically everyone in the castle knew that Gaius only sent Merlin out to collect herbs when he wanted to get the young man out of his hair for a bit.

Their mirth falls into a comfortable silence. A silence which Merlin breaks with a nervous, “So…”

Gwaine tilts his head, looking Merlin up and down, appraising him. 

“Would you like to come in?”

Merlin hesitates. They both know what Gwaine’s _really_ asking. He bites his bottom lip.   
“I wasn’t sure if you –”

Gwaine’s hand comes up to hold his chin, a gesture that should be emasculating, yet somehow makes Merlin look stronger. 

“I thought you had grown weary of our… friendship. I only want what makes you happy Merlin, but if you don’t want to…. that’s alright.” 

“I want you, Gwaine. I do. And I only hope you can forgive me for what terrible friend I’ve been these past few weeks. I’d understand if you didn’t want me as your… lover anymore.”

Gwaine could have answered him verbally. They could have gone back and forth like this all night, and he knew that in the end Merlin would still be left wondering if he’d created rift too big to fix. So Gwaine does the only thing that he is sure can ease Merlin’s mind. He tilts Merlin head back, moves to frame the sides of his face in his hands and give the other man the slowest, most passionate kiss he can.

Merlin almost immediately melts into him, his lips parting with a breathless moan. When Gwaine pulls back, Merlin’s eyes are glazed with arousal. He smirks, one hand curling around the back of Merlin’s neck as he pulls the unresisting man into his chambers. Hands grasp at ties and tug at frustrating fabric, eager to get each other as naked as possible.

Merlin doesn’t wait before Gwaine’s trousers are even half way down his thighs before sliding down and taking his leaking member in his mouth.

“Merlin.” Gwaine groans, carding his fingers through Merlin’s hair. Merlin looks up at him, smiling as much as he can around Gwaine’s cock. Gwaine huffs a laugh and tugs lightly on the hair on the back of Merlin’s neck. “I’d be a fool to give up that mouth of yours.”

Merlin chuckles, the vibrations of which wipes the small smirk right of Gwaine’s face. Merlin hums smugly, bowing his head to take Gwaine in again. His lips slick down the shaft, nose burying itself in the patch of brown hairs that cover Gwaine’s lower belly. He swallows around the thick length inside him, tickling his tongue along the large vein as he drags his way back up.

Almost of their own accord, Gwaine’s hips start to rock gently, seeking more friction, more heat, more wet. Merlin pulls back and holds, lets Gwaine fuck his mouth as the knight becomes more desperate to reach orgasm. It only takes a few more strokes into the wet unresisting heat of Merlin’s mouth before he pulls out completely and comes in thick white stripes over Merlin’s waiting lips.

* * *

**12.**

It’s not that Merlin doesn’t trust Mordred-- but fuck-- it’s exactly that Merlin doesn’t trust Mordred. It’s amazing to him how quickly some people forgot the lessons learned from Aggravaine and Morgana; and perhaps if he hadn’t seen the destruction Mordred was capable of, or heard Kilgharrah’s dire warnings, Merlin would be more inclined to believe his act of innocence.

 

As it stands he feels completely justified in searching Mordred’s rooms. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. 

 

After seven years in Arthur’s service, Merlin’s pretty much a pro at this by now.

***

Mordred’s chambers are tidier then his own, which helps with Merlin's search but is annoying in and of itself. Every time Merlin looks at Mordred, gaze assessing, he feels like he’s looking at a paragon of knightly virtue, just screaming out to be dirtied. It makes him both irritated and wary; uncertain of what game Mordred is playing and unsure if he's willing to play it.

 

By the time five minutes have passed Merlin has found nothing of value and can hear footsteps approaching from the corridor. He launches himself into the nearest wardrobe, leaving the door open enough to spy through in case Mordred reveals a secret hiding spot or does anything remotely incriminating that he can ponder later.

 

Instead Mordred undresses efficiently, folding his clothes and riding himself of his boots, before relaxing naked on his bed.

 

Merlin can feel the heat infuse his face as he realises what he is about to witness, watching as Mordred takes himself in hand and tugs lazily.

 

He can feel the beginnings of arousal take hold low in his belly but he definitely isn’t going to get himself off while hiding in someone else’s wardrobe, like a perverted peeping tom. Surely he isn’t so degenerate that he could become aroused by watching Mordred when he had been searching his belongings not even ten minutes prior. His mother raised him with morals even if he doesn't always use them and he’s not _Gwaine_ after all.

 

But then Mordred’s long fingers are playing with the head of his erection, running over the slit and tugging at his balls as he bites his perfect bottom lip between his teeth, and Merlin wants take that lip and suckle it while he runs his hands over Mordred’s lithe body, lying supine beneath his own.

 

Mordred moans as his hand speeds up, jerking himself from root to tip and breaking Merlin from his unexpected fantasy with one hand pressed unconsciously against his hard cock. He closes his eyes against Mordred’s groans wishing he hadn’t hid in the first place, and had instead concocted one of the half-truths that Arthur always seemed to take at face value. It was too late to escape this frustration now. And both Mordred’s and Merlins arousals would make it uncomfortably awkward should he try.

 

When he opens his eyes to peek at Mordred again, Merlin can see his free hand dipping lower, rubbing against his buttocks. From Mordred’s face Merlin can deduce the exact moment he enters himself, mouth parting in a perfect ‘O’ while his eyes lose their focus and gain a dreamy quality. 

 

Merlin determinedly doesn’t touch himself as heat erupts along his nape a sweat gathers around his forehead and upper lip, his breathing becoming more ragged.

 

Mordred starts to tug at himself more frantically as he rocks up and down on his finger, crying out every time he finds that perfect spot inside himself until his body finally bends and an explosive cry bursts from his lips as he comes.

 

And in the depth of the wardrobe Merlin breaks, orgasm crashing over his body as Mordreds cry penetrates every corner of the room. The name of _Emrys_ echoing in his brain.

 

‘ _Well fuck_.’

* * *

**13.**

It’s not a conscious thought, but when Merlin accidentally sweeps Arthur’s goblet off his dresser while trying to return the key he borrowed, instinct dictates that he fling himself after it, plucking it from the air before it hits the floor.

He misses completely.

When it lands with a clatter on the other side of the room, Merlin finds himself thrown across Arthur’s bed. Across sleeping Arthur himself.

Merlin has never moved so fast in his life as when he launches backwards off the bed, hitting the stone floor with a jarring thud which sucks the air from his lungs, makes the back of his head clang like saucepans, and his hip want to crawl in to avoid the white pain.

It’s all he can do not to cry out.

On the bed, the coverlets slide with a rustle, and of course Arthur’s waking up—not even he could sleep through a bodyslam like that. Merlin curses himself for ten kinds of fool.

Arthur’s up on his elbows looking away to where the goblet has rolled to a stop, and Merlin dives under the bed before he’s even caught his breath.

**&**

The room’s silent; Merlin thinks perhaps Arthur’s drifted back to sleep.

He wishes he’d had the presence of mind to stop the goblet with magic, or think up any excuse that would mean walking out of here instead of hiding under Arthur’s bed with clumps of dust and a dead beetle. Merlin’s lip curls in disgust.

Just as he’s resolved to try his luck, Arthur’s bed creaks ominously.

Merlin freezes.

He’s not sure what he’s hearing at first.

There’s more rustling, and Arthur sighs, long and content, in a way Merlin’s never heard before. His skin tingles with foreboding.

It takes a good moment to process the next sound. Merlin’s mouth falls open in shock.

Above him, Arthur groans, voice thick and raspy from sleep, and the low edge of it creeps up Merlin’s spine like cold fingers.

And it’s not like he hasn’t imagined—of course he has. Merlin’s only human, and Arthur’s not shy about his body. It’s only too easy to picture him laid out on the bed above, teasing himself, cupping, tugging—Merlin swallows dryly. Oh yes, only too easy.

Silence falls, and Merlin’s entire body tunes in, waiting. The wet lick can only mean one thing, and sure enough, there’s a distinct _fwap, fwap_ from above, the familiar echo of a moistened palm moving over private skin. Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, but Arthur’s waiting there too, gloriously gold and broad and heavy. He’d be a solid slab. He’d pin down, and own, and wedge in between thighs like a conqueror, and he’d _take_.

Merlin shivers, wondering if Arthur's scars look darker when his blood heats.

Arthur’s surprisingly vocal, Merlin never imagined that. He grunts, moans brokenly into his bedding, and Merlin gives in with a sigh, sneaking cold fingers sneak under the placket of his trousers, movements awkward and constricted in the small space beneath Arthur’s bed. His hip aches, but it’s good. It’s grounding.

He eases his cock’s own slick around the head with his fingertips, silently sucking air. Above, Arthur’s counting each stroke with _ah, ah, ah_ and below, Merlin imagines licking lazy, wet curlicues over Arthur’s chest, tasting hair against the grain. 

He opens his mouth and sucks in a fingertip like it’s Arthur’s nipple, curling his tongue around it, then stretches his mouth around three fingers, sliding them over his tongue like he’d suck a cock. Listening to Arthur pant, he imagines the texture of the crease between those big thighs and Arthur’s sac, the dark blond thatch of hair at the base of Arthur’s cock glistening with Merlin’s spit, absolutely filthy with it.

Merlin’s shuddering breaths are too loud but Arthur can’t hear, he’s fucking his fist good and hard, the sounds sticking Merlin’s thoughts together like smears of warm honey and curling around his insides, low, deep and throbbing.

Merlin works himself as harshly as the space will allow, biting down on his fingers, swallowing the name he can’t say, and his dignity with it.

He comes in his trousers like an untried boy, then memorises Arthur’s almost pained, rough moan, wishing he could be inside Arthur’s head, seeing what he sees in that one blinding moment.

He waits, cold and slowly crusting, until he hears Arthur’s light snores, then makes his escape, stomach muscles spasming in dark pleasure each time he remembers.

* * *

 **14.**  
 **Title:** Spell Me The Truth Of How You Feel

Merlin’s lugging a huge basket of Arthur’s dirty, stinking laundry down to the kitchens when he’s intercepted by King Prat himself. He scoffs.

“What now? Can’t you manage two minutes without me?” he grinds out, annoyed.

Arthur’s grin is disconcerting as he leans in and whispers, “Actually, no.”

And he drags Merlin into a dark nook and attack-snogs him, making Merlin drop the laundry basket in shock. It lands on the stone floor with a thud, spilling dirty clothes everywhere. When Merlin manages to escape Arthur’s clutches, claiming he has to do the laundry _right bloody now_ , Arthur actually follows and sits on the bench beside him while he works. Merlin can feel the intent of his gaze, and sometimes Arthur even reaches out and strokes the nape of his neck, causing him to shiver with suppressed lust. (Fuckfuckfuck, _don’t_ get a hard-on! Don’t you _dare_. Fuck.)

Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

*

So, it turns out that all of Camelot has fallen under some sort of spell. Again. How much magic can a magic-hating kingdom really attract? (Oh, right. A lot!) Anyway, apparently people are unable to stop themselves from expressing their true feelings towards the people they love. (And what kind of half-ass spell is that? Hardly a threat to the kingdom.) 

The workings of the spell both hurts and pleases Merlin, because he’s been loving Arthur for years. And yes, all would be well and good... if the side effect of the spell wasn’t that whatever the affected do while _under_ the spell is forgotten when the spell’s _broken._

So, even if Arthur professes his love for Merlin and appoints him his Consort, he won’t remember it when the spell breaks. It takes a day and a half of hidden snogs around the castle before Merlin realises that it’s probably quite morally wrong even to just... _avoid_ to lift the spell. His decision might also have something to do with George, who, every time he spots Arthur, gets a really soft look on his face and what looks suspiciously like an erection under his pristine breeches, and that’s something that Merlin can’t really stand. (What the hell, George? Arthur is _Merlin’s_ and no one else’s.)

*

Merlin searches through half the library before finding the right potion that will save Camelot’s residents from their own loving feelings. (Oh, huzzah. Like the repressed arsehole of a King really needs _that._ ) Arthur fucking needs the opposite, as far as Merlin is concerned. Gathering his things, Merlin mutters as many foul words as he can think of as he goes to brew the damned thing.

*

Entering Arthur’s chambers, Merlin sets the vial with the potion on the table. Arthur isn’t here. Oh well, he’s probably off somewhere picking Merlin flowers or something. He’ll be back. Merlin has thought about this and if he never can have it again, he sure as hell is going to take advantage now. 

When Arthur enters the chambers, Merlin launches himself at his King and kisses him desperately, almost violently. Arthur lets out a surprised but highly pleased humming sound before grabbing Merlin’s arse, pressing him close, deepening the kiss.

The preparation is only just enough when Arthur pushes into him, but Merlin doesn’t care. He savours the pain, reaches back and tries to drag Arthur closer, further in, prompts him to start moving. (For fuck’s sake, move, Arthur, _move!_ )

Arthur moves, but he doesn’t set the harsh pace Merlin craves. Instead, he takes his time, wants to make it last, pressing gentle kisses to Merlin’s spine. Tears threaten to break out from behind Merlin’s closed eyelids, because he doesn’t want the softness. That will make his existence in Camelot even more unbearable afterwards, knowing that Arthur’s feelings are nothing short of love and not just a rough, desperate need to fuck his useless servant into the mattress. 

In the end, Merlin wets the bedclothes with both tears and come, and later, when he hands Arthur the potion and tells him to drink it, he feels an emptiness in his chest he’s never quite felt before.

*

When Arthur knocks on his door before stepping into the room, Merlin lies on his bed, sniffling softly into his pillow.

“Merlin?”

Straightening up and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Merlin answers, “Yes, sire?”

“I– Why are you crying?”

“No reason, sire.”

“Stop calling me sire. I was going to ask you if you’re up for round two? You were gone when I woke up.”

* * *

**15.**

“You should have told me, Merlin.” 

Arthur’s voice at Will’s funeral pyre had been cold and hard. 

They had barely spoken on the trip back to Camelot. Arthur had remained aloof, and Merlin was so numb inside that he didn’t even try to talk. 

When they got back late on the second day, Merlin had accompanied Arthur to his chambers and tried to help him undress. But Arthur had turned his back on him, and said, “Go away, Merlin. I don’t want you around right now.” 

The next morning Merlin had gone to Arthur’s room as usual, but a guard had barred the door and said, “The Prince says your services are not required today.” *** 

Arthur didn’t let him come back for a week. 

Merlin knew that Arthur was angry because he thought Merlin had hidden the fact that Will was a sorcerer. But Will wasn’t a sorcerer. 

Merlin was. 

Merlin thought bitterly of his mother’s words. 

“You belong at Arthur's side. I've seen how much he needs you, how much you need him. You're like two sides of the same coin.” 

Well, it didn’t seem like Arthur needed him much. *** 

When he was finally summoned to Arthur’s chambers, Merlin didn’t know what to expect. 

Arthur was sitting at the chair by his table, cutting up an apple with a small dagger. He pointed it at Merlin casually and gestured at the chair, saying, “Sit.” 

Merlin sat, and watched as Arthur wiped the blade with a linen napkin. The freshly-honed edge of the blade shone in the morning sun. 

Arthur toyed with the dagger for a moment, and Merlin remembered how very fond Arthur was of sharp pointy things. 

And suddenly the dagger was pointing at his throat, the tip resting with a pressure that was just shy of drawing blood. Merlin held very still, afraid to even breathe. 

“You lied to me, Merlin. I saw what happened. You were the one who raised that windstorm. “ 

Arthur pulled the blade back just a bit. “You may speak when I ask you a question. Do not lie to me, or I’ll slit your throat. Do you understand?” 

Merlin nodded. 

He noted that Arthur didn’t look angry anymore, but that his eyes were bright with some strong emotion. 

“Take off your scarf.” 

Merlin raised his hands and fumbled with the knot, and when he had it undone he placed it on the table. 

“Are you a sorcerer?” 

“Yes.” Merlin trembled as he realized that the emotion he saw in Arthur was lust. 

“Very good. Take your shirt off.” 

Merlin thought about refusing, but Arthur looked dangerous, so he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. 

Arthur drew the flat of the blade across Merlin’s chest, twisting his wrist when he reached a nipple. Merlin felt the cold edge of the blade against the tender skin, and his nipple hardened. 

“Who do you serve?” Arthur asked, holding the blade steady. 

“No one but you, Sire, “ Merlin gasped. In spite of the fact that Arthur could easily slice off some tender bit of skin that Merlin would rather keep, he was getting hard in his trousers. 

He wasn’t really afraid. 

Alright, he was a little bit afraid. But somehow that made the situation even more exciting. 

“Stand up,”Arthur ordered. 

Merlin complied, and watched in horrified awe as Arthur drew the blade very lightly down the center of Merlin’s chest, down to his navel, pausing at the line of dark hair that started just below Merlin’s navel. There was no blood, just a tingling sensation, and Merlin started to shake. 

“Hold very still,” Arthur said. And he used the blade to cut the laces on Merlin’s breeches. 

The breeches fell to Merlin’s knees, exposing his smallclothes. Arthur slipped the tip of the blade into the waistband, and neatly sliced them open. Merlin’s rigid cock sprang out. 

He slid the blade between Merlin’s thighs, sharp side up, not hurting Merlin, but with the sharp blade very close to his balls. He asked his last question. 

“Do you swear to use your magic only for the good of Camelot?” 

“Until the day I die,” Merlin answered, riding the heady combination of fear and arousal Arthur’s skill with the blade aroused in him. 

“Good.” 

The blade clattered to the floor as Arthur took Merlin into his mouth. 

* * *

**16.**

It’s not as if Merlin is the only one with a secret. Arthur knows plenty about secrets, both how to keep one and how to tell if someone is hiding one. Growing up with a father like Uther has made Arthur very careful about the ones he keeps.

Arthur can tell Merlin is hiding _something_. He doesn’t quite know what it is yet, but he’s going to find out one way or another. Merlin stumbles along beside him cheerfully—never looking at his feet, only at Arthur—and chatters like a magpie. Arthur has tried to tell Merlin to shut up and be silent like a good servant, but it goes in one ridiculous ear and out the other, and Arthur has decided to stop wasting his breath. Arthur doesn’t mind the chatter so much anymore; the air feels empty now when Merlin isn’t there to fill it with words. 

But his ramblings have an added benefit: Arthur is sure he’ll weasel Merlin’s secret out of him eventually.

*

Arthur becomes so preoccupied with finding out Merlin’s secret that he stops paying attention to everything else he does with Merlin. 

It’s a fleeting moment, something Arthur doesn’t think about. He only feels. He presses Merlin’s mouth against his, a brush of a kiss after Merlin finishes dressing him. Arthur doesn’t even realise he’s done it until he’s halfway out the door and turns around to see what’s keeping Merlin. Merlin is rooted to the spot, staring at him with his mouth agape like a fool, and Arthur pauses to wonder what on earth he ever saw in that mouth when he kissed it and—oh. That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?

*

It’s not a problem. Well, it is a problem, because everything that has to do with Merlin is a problem, but the actual doing part—that’s not a problem. They begin with kissing. Merlin likes to close his eyes when he’s kissed, and Arthur likes to keep his open to watch Merlin, except sometimes Merlin slides his tongue sweetly against Arthur’s with just the right amount of pressure, and Arthur’s eyelids fall shut on their own somehow. He’s working on it.

*

After kissing, it’s touching. Arthur doesn’t like to hug, has always been told by his father that hugging isn’t for princes, but touching, _touching_ is something different. A clap on the shoulder, a palm between the shoulder blades, a ruffling of hair—Arthur allows himself only small touches in public, unable to stop his hands from reaching for Merlin. In private, Merlin comes alive underneath Arthur’s fingers, scrabbling at him, tugging him down, touching every bit of skin he can reach, every emotion written across his face. 

Arthur watches the way Merlin’s eyes go soft and unfocused when he wraps a hand around his cock, sliding his fingers up and down slowly, teasingly, lingering at the spots that make Merlin gasp. Merlin is uncoordinated, clumsy, and eager in bed, and Arthur feels the same: everything is new with Merlin. Everything else fades away until there is nothing left but Merlin’s eyes on his, Merlin’s mouth on his, Merlin’s cock sliding against his in a rhythm of their own making. Arthur watches Merlin as he nears orgasm, his mouth slack, his skin slick with sweat, his face flushed pink, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s face as he comes. 

Afterward, they lie together, spent, but Arthur can’t close his eyes for want of watching Merlin. They stay together underneath the blankets, skin to skin, face to face, until dawn breaks and Arthur feels a new secret taking hold of his heart.

*

Arthur is right—he usually is—and Merlin tells Arthur his secret himself. In fact, he blurts it out in the council room, admitting to being a sorcerer to save Gwen’s father’s life. Because _Arthur_ isn’t an idiot, he does what needs to be done to save Merlin from himself. But now he knows: Merlin has magic.

For as long as Arthur can remember, magic has been something to fear. “It can only be used for evil, Arthur,” his father tells him time and time again. “Remember that.”

Arthur remembers it. It becomes ingrained into his thoughts, his actions. It catches him completely by surprise to know Merlin is using it for good, not evil. Merlin continues to use magic to save lives—to save _Arthur’s_ life—and wants nothing for it, not gold, not power, not even acknowledgement or gratitude.

Arthur knows only one way to repay that. Merlin would give his life for Arthur’s: in turn, Arthur would give his for Merlin’s. 

That’s Arthur’s secret now.

* * *

**17.**

The clacking of his boots against the stone floor echoes loudly in the quiet of the night. Arthur pauses briefly as he turns the last corner, seeing the two guards on either side of the door, considering – but can’t stop once they spot him, stand at attention. He sends them away.

Arthur knocks once before opening the door carefully. His father is in bed, barely awake; his face open and unguarded in a way Arthur rarely gets to see anymore. It’s refreshing and beautiful; Arthur captures it in his mind and stores it forever, along with all the tiny smiles, and nods of approval, and the rare hugs. His father looks at him as Arthur closes the door and his features school back to the hard lines of a king Arthur is used to.

“Arthur. Has something happened?”

“No, nothing’s happened.” Arthur makes his way over to his father’s bedside, sitting in the chair. He can feel his heart hammering inside his chest and briefly wonders if perhaps his father can hear it too, or the guards down the corridor, or the rest of Camelot.

His father nods, a vague look of approval aimed at Arthur, as if he’s the one who risked his life. “What is it, then?” he asks.

Suddenly, Arthur wants to stand up and leave, make up a lie about crops or the kitchens, but it’s not how his father taught him. He’s been trained to kill since birth, to look death in the face and laugh, but somehow, in the quiet of his father’s chambers, it’s different. 

Arthur’s skin feels too tight, constricting and suffocating him, like his father’s gaze, which grows more intense and impatient. Arthur can see his father sitting up and he can’t be dismissed, does the only thing he can think of. He drops to his knees. 

“Arthur,” his father starts, but says nothing else. Arthur takes the silence as permission, at least for now. He shuffles toward the bed, until his forehead rests against the side, and he waits. 

The bed sheets shuffle before Arthur feels the gentle press of his father’s warm, dry hand against his head. It runs through his hair once, twice, and it shouldn’t be enough for all the tension, fear, anger, and confusion of earlier in the day to suddenly drain out, but it is. 

Arthur can feel himself shaking, tears threatening to flood his closed eyelids. He knows his father must notice. Arthur tries to stop, but he can’t; he’s failing. 

He tries to push away, but his father’s hand moves quickly, cups the side of his face and holds him still. Arthur can’t help himself – he rubs his cheek against the rough palm until the storm inside him subsides. 

His father rubs a thumb along his cheekbone and lifts his face up. Arthur keeps his eyes closed.

“Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tighter, he grabs onto his father’s arm with both hands, keeps it steady as he places kisses all over his palm.

He can feel his father move closer, making gentle shushing sounds before another hand grabs his shoulder and tugs up; the order behind the gesture unmistakeable. Arthur keeps his eyes closed as he climbs onto the bed beside his father. 

His body is still shaking when Arthur tosses all propriety out the window and turns to his father, clings to him like he used to as a little boy, hiding under tables during feasts and council meetings. He holds his father close and doesn’t cry while his hands scramble to touch him, feel him living. 

Arthur kisses and mouths at his throat, body not his own when he realizes he’s humping against his father, his cock hard. He tries to get away, shame making bile rise in his throat, but his father stops him with a firm hand, the same hand he rules a kingdom with, and Arthur stays. He lets his father pet his hair while Arthur continues rocking against his hip, movements desperate to reclaim his father from death’s door. 

He holds his father’s bedshirt so tight his hands cramp up, but he doesn’t stop thrusting, doesn’t stop pressing kisses to his shoulder, neck until his father grips his face and presses his lips against Arthur’s, hard. It’s all Arthur needs before he’s coming in his trousers, clinging tighter. His father pets his hair through it all, whispers, “My boy,” against his lips. Arthur opens his eyes and the tears begin to fall.

* * *

**18.**

Arthur trailed his fingers down the skin of Gwen’s side and his lips along the line of her collarbone. 

 

“Arthur,” Gwen said breathily. 

 

Arthur smiled against her skin and looked up. 

 

“Please.” Gwen trailed a finger along his eyebrow. 

 

“No,” Arthur said kissing the soft swell of her breast. “I almost lost you. I am going to take my time.”

 

“Or…” Gwen said slowly, curling her leg around his thigh and pulling him closer. “You could go much more quickly and then again after some dinner.”

 

Arthur shook his head and nosed at Gwen’s pebbled nipple. Then he kissed it, pulled it into his warm mouth and used his teeth and lips to worry it to an even tighter point before licking at it with his tongue. 

 

“I am the King,” Arthur said releasing her nipple. “You are one of my subjects and I will do as I please with you.”

 

Gwen laughed under him. 

 

“Are you questioning my authority?”

 

“No,” Gwen said, wriggling down until she could feel the hard line of him pressing against her body. “Only that you think you have any authority over me when we are be bed together. You may be King but I am the Queen and I demand satisfaction.”

 

Arthur smiled and ground his hips down into her. “I pride myself on always ensuring your satisfaction.”

 

“And yet,” Gwen said reaching between them to grasp his erection. “You are refusing me.”

 

Arthur pulled her nipple into his mouth again and sucked until she moaned and arched under him. He moved over to the other breast and moved a hand down to slide over her belly button. He felt her abdomen flutter beneath his fingers and he petted the soft skin between her navel and the soft curls then he intended to explore thoroughly until she began to squirm. Arthur lifted his head to look at his wife, her eyes were closed and she was biting her full bottom lip. He leaned up to lick at the red indent on her bottom lip and she opened her eyes to look at him. 

 

“I could not stand to lose you.” Arthur said pressing his fingers further down, to the wet, hot, place that made her arch beautifully under him. 

 

“Ar-thur!” Gwen said and her chest expanded as she caught and held her breath.

He worked her with his fingers, sliding over the hooded nub that made her moan and down to her wet entrance. He slid two fingers into her, enjoying the tight clench of her body as her heels dug into his legs. He watched her face avidly as his fingers continued to work. She was expressive in her pleasure even if she was not vocal. She never whispered dirty things into his ear as he slid his cock into her body but he could see by her expression that she was well on her way to satisfaction. 

 

Gwen reached up and gripped his shoulders. Her fingernails dug into the skin over his shoulder blades. That would make Merlin smirk at Arthur tomorrow but he didn’t care. When she was almost there…so close, he pulled his hand away from her. She slapped him sharply where her fingers had been clutching him. 

 

“Wait.” Arthur said, before slipping down beneath the sheets and kissing his way down her body. He kissed her thigh and lapped his way in until he could taste her juices. He licked at them and then continued inwards, hitching one of her legs over his shoulder and spreading her for his mouth and tongue. He licked at her opening, coated his lips in her wetness before moving up and pulling her nub into his mouth. He sucked hard. He could hear the thud as her hand connected with the headboard and she came, moaning out her pleasure. 

 

He moved up and slipped into her as she was still coming back to him. Her body a tight clench around him that gave unexpectedly as she threw her limbs around his body and pulled him in close. As soon as he was seated in her he could no longer ignore his need, both for her body and to assure himself that she was here and safe. He set a fast, hard, rhythm that she met thrust for thrust.

 

Gwen pulled him into a kiss and licked her own taste from his mouth. 

 

With a last, forceful thrust he pushed into her and came, her name on his lips and in his heart.

* * *

**19.**

Gwaine didn't know what else to do except go to the tavern. The other knights looked at him like he was a horrible human being for even suggesting it, but if Merlin was still out there, they weren't going to find him that night.

When he stepped into the tavern, the familiarity of debauchery warmed his heart. A pint of ale was thrust into his hand before he was five paces inside. He sipped his drink and leaned against the wall for a minute, surveying the room. He'd had all the barmaids before, not that he wasn't interested in repeat performances, but he was more in the mood for a lad anyway. He needed a distraction, and pulling a bloke was a bit more of a challenge for Gwaine, as some blokes were unfortunately not amenable to a roll in the hay with another man. 

But over the years, Gwaine had gotten better at picking out the ones who were _very_ amenable, the ones who were curious and easily swayed, and the ones who would punch him in the face at the mere suggestion. 

At first look, Gwaine was disappointed at his chances, until he spotted him. 

In the corner sat a young man with a drab haircut, but the prettiest pair of lips Gwaine had ever seen, well, other than Arthur's, but Gwaine wasn't about to go down that road again. He had successfully been on the no nobility wagon for months. This lad was dressed neatly in Pendragon colours, wearing a uniform much like Merlin's, and that's when it clicked that he must be Arthur's new manservant.

Said manservant was staring sadly into his ale when Gwaine approached and dropped into the chair beside him at the table.

“George, is it?” Gwaine asked casually before taking a long sip from his cup.

“Yes, sir.” George replied.

“Why so glum?”

“I think I've displeased the king.”

“What makes you say that?” Gwaine leaned forward into George's space, forcing the man to lift his eyes up. 

“He dismissed me early tonight with an order to 'go to the tavern or something'.”

“Oh now, I don't think he's displeased. Earlier I heard him say you were the best servant in the kingdom.”

“Really?” George's eyes lit up.

“He just likes to give his manservants time off. He probably thought he was being generous.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. I wouldn't worry about it. You should try to enjoy your evening off.” Gwaine smiled. “What is it you like to do in your spare time?”

“Well,” George said matter-of-factly. “I rather like polishing brass.”

Gwaine almost choked on his ale. This wasn't going to be a hard pull at all. “You like polishing brass.” He slowly repeated George's words.

“Oh, yes. There are different kinds of brass, you know, and depending on the type of oil, your grip, and the motion you use, you can get all kinds of satisfying results.”

“What do you usually polish?”

George looked thoughtful for a moment. “Candlesticks mostly.”

“Sticks? What about knobs. Do you like to polish knobs?” Gwaine lowered his voice and looked up through his eyelashes at George.

“Knobs are my speciality.”

“Would you like to show me how you polish a knob?”

George swallowed hard. “Any knob? Or do you have a particular knob in mind?”

“Well, I do have a knob in need of polishing. And if you give me a proper demonstration of your technique, maybe I could try it out on your knob?”

“Just to be clear, sir. We aren't strictly speaking about _brass_ knobs, are we?”

“Nearly as hard,” Gwaine murmured. He leaned in close and whispered in George's ear, “but why don't you come to my quarters and find out.”

Gwaine stood, a move that put his crotch right at George's eye level. He blatantly adjusted his bulge and then headed toward the tavern door. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that George was scrambling after him. 

Thirty minutes later, a very satisfied, very naked, and very polished-off Gwaine stretched out on his bed with an equally sated George flopping down beside him.

“Well, the king was wrong.”

“About what, sir?”

“If your knob polishing skills are any indication, you're the best manservant in all the _five_ kingdoms.”

* * *

**20.**

The frog croaked. Elena caught her breath and looked around quickly, but neither her guards nor Grunhilda were in sight. She shouldn't... she swallowed hard, but her mouth kept watering, thinking of the muddy aroma, the slick body, the way it would kick in her throat as it went down. It was only a little green frog...

Her father would be so disappointed. He loved her, but he was always disappointed--by her clumsiness, her rebellious hair, her inability to remember which fork to use at table--nothing that a princess should be. But she'd agreed to come with him to Camelot to meet Prince Arthur, even though she knew he wouldn't like her anyway. And even if the prince accepted the proposed match, she was certain he wouldn't let her have any frogs either.

Elena's resolve firmed. She deserved this little treat. Casting another wary look around, Elena gathered up her skirts and prepared to pounce.

She took one step, two, feeling her limbs alien and not quite hers as always, then tripped over a rock, falling to her hands and knees in a flurry of skirts and damp fallen leaves, and the frog, alerted, leapt away and vanished with a plop into the lake even as she tried to scramble forward after it. 

"No!" Elena let out a little sob of disappointment, and pounded the muddy bank with her fists. Her dress was surely ruined, again. "Why do I always... Why can't I do anything right?"

Then she saw the girl watching her curiously, reflected in the wavering surface of the lake, and stopped herself, feeling her face flush hot with embarrassment. She looked around quickly, but no one was behind her. Was she mistaken?

She looked back at the water, and saw the girl again, pretty and delicate, with long, dark hair, pale skin unmarred by sun and wind (though Elena could never give up riding, never). A fine silk dress that Elena would surely ruin even before she could even put it on. Elena wiped her hands on her own wrecked dress, self-conscious. "Who--who are you?" She glanced behind herself again felt her skin crawl. "What are you?"

The girl in the water mouthed something. _Freya._ She pointed at Elena's hands. _Are you all right? Your hands are all scratched up._

Elena hid her hands behind her, ashamed. "It's all right! My fault, I was being stupid. I'm always stupid."

The girl smiled, sweet without a hint of scorn, and it warmed Elena inside  
like honey mead. _No, you're not. None of this is your fault. Give me your hands,_ said the girl, holding out her open palms.

Bemused, Elena obeyed, putting her hands in the water. She shivered at the cool touch on her hands, neither water nor flesh, soothing away the hurts. Freya's little touches, the soft strokes on her hands sent tingles of pleasure coursing through her, and suddenly greedy, she pushed her arms deeper in the water, not caring that she'd soaked her sleeves completely. "My elbows too, please?"

Freya giggled soundlessly at her, and stroked up her arms shyly.

The strokes become a light tickle on the sensitive insides of her upper arms, and somehow sent a bolt of sensation up to prick her nipples sharply. She gasped, and clenched her thighs together at the delicious feeling. "More," she demanded, bending until her arms were fully submerged. "Please." Cool water crept up, diffident, and spread over her breasts, rippled, and Elena moaned. If she could... but... she shouldn't.

Elena inhaled sharply, pulling back. Freya looked up at her in confusion and a touch of hurt. No. She wanted this girl more than any frog, and certainly more than the loveless marriage waiting at the end of this journey.

She stepped in, felt the water glide around and touch her feet and ankles, smiled mischievously at Freya, who looked at her with wide, amazed eyes and a rosy blush tinting her pale cheeks. The water rose over her calves. She dragged up her skirts, wading deeper, water swirling over her thighs, and let herself lie back as the lake rushed in to caress her all over with wondering fingers.

\-----

 _When you have done what you need to at Camelot, come back._ Elena closed her eyes and held on to Freya's parting words, let the disapproving women tut over her ruined dress and the leaves in her hair.

* * *

**21.**

There was only so long a woman could hold the throne on her own before the people started to worry, Gwen knew that, even with allowances made for mourning. Still, she took what time she had and used it for her own. And even when the people began to whisper and wonder about Camelot's future, she stood alone and did the best she could, for Arthur. When other kingdoms began sending their princes -- and then their earls, and their dukes, and their second sons, in a desperate hope that _someone_ would catch her fancy -- she entertained them all, as befit foreign dignitaries, and sent them home disappointed.

And when one day, after bidding farewell to the latest hopeful envoy, Leon drew her into a private room and dropped to one knee with a terribly earnest expression, tears welled in Gwen's eyes that had never come before, not for any of the foreign suitors. "I can't ask that of you," she whispered, trying to pull Leon to his feet, even as her heart whispered that it was the smartest match of them all. The people would welcome a union between Arthur's widow and his most trusted knight. And Gwen thought maybe, just maybe, she could bear to remarry, if it was to her oldest and dearest friend.

"You're not," he said. "You haven't." And he ducked his head and remained on one knee. "But I am yours, if you'll have me."

*

They married in summer, the hall so full of flowers that every breath was perfumed. And afterwards, when Gwen was full from the feasting and unsteady from the drinking, Leon lead her upstairs to her chambers. She sat on the bed and struggled with her bodice's laces, and only noticed Leon was still in the doorway when he spoke.

"No one will expect you to be a maiden, after Arthur," he said abruptly. "There will be no need for proof of your innocence. We don't..." He looked at the bed like it was some dreadful beast he was determined to vanquish. "We don't have to. Not tonight. Not if you don't—"

"Leon." She patted the bed beside her. "Come sit with me." He obeyed, and she took his hand in hers. "I wouldn't have wedded you if I feared this part of our marriage."

He looked unconvinced. She wondered if he'd entered into this wedding thinking she feared consummating it, or if he feared it himself.

She said his name again, and tucked her fingers beneath his chin to tip his face to hers. "We're friends, aren't we? We were children together. We shouldn't fear each other."

He let out a slow breath and leaned his cheek into her touch. "You are my lady," he said quietly. "And it is not friendship I want from you."

She smiled and shifted, swinging one leg over to straddle him. His hands went to her waist like they belonged there. "It's not the first time I've helped you undress, after all," she said lightly as she worked at his laces, and was pleased when it earned her a smile.

He let her undress him, and when she was finished, he laid her down on the bed and knelt between her legs. His fingers skimmed up her calves, pushing the dress up with it. His gaze was warm, and it made her heart flutter.

He undressed her methodically, and with great care. When they were both bare, she reached for him, slid her arms around his back and drew him over her.

He was hard against her thigh. When she grasped him, a shudder ran through him, and when she made room for him between her knees and fit the head of his cock against her entrance, he muffled a groan against the skin of her shoulder.

It had been so long. She hadn't had anyone, not since Arthur, and her body ached now, unaccustomed to the intrusion. But Leon kissed and stroked her through it until she was trembling beneath him, shivering and gasping as she came undone beneath his touch. And then he pulled her into a kiss and groaned against her mouth as he spent himself inside her.

They clung together afterwards, gasping into each other's mouths, sliding hands through sweat. "I am yours," Leon murmured close against her ear. "I have always been yours." And Gwen kissed him, and held him tight, and smiled against his skin. For the first time since before Camlann, she felt content.

* * *

**22.**

When Arthur turns around, there's a wicked gleam in his otherwise cool expression. 

"What the hell was that?"

It takes several swallows before his voice will form something that resembles words. "It was, um. Horseplay?"

"No, Merlin," Arthur says with deliberate slowness. "You're doing it wrong." He takes the butter-soft glove from Merlin's hands and sheaths his hand. "Why don't I show you?"

The promissory tone makes his already-interested cock almost painfully hard. Arthur swaggers up to him, invading his space until they're toe to toe. The air is hot and charged. Arthur draws one finger down Merlin's cheek and smirks when Merlin lets a whimper out.

"Open," he commands, and slips a finger in Merlin's mouth when he obeys. Merlin stokes the fire in Arthur's eyes with his tongue, caressing and following the folds and creases of the glove until his mouth is ripe with the flavour of leather and oil. "Get it wet," Arthur says, sliding another finger in beside the first one. "They're all I'm going to use on you."

The line should sound ridiculous, but Merlin can't help but moan around the fingers in his mouth, suckling harder until the leather is sodden and Arthur removes them from Merlin's mouth with an audible pop.

"Strip."

Merlin's trousers are around his pants in record time but his upper half proves more of a problem. His shirt and neckerchief get tangled around his ears and head, but he can't feel embarrassed when Arthur barks out his stupidly endearing laugh.

Some of the fire in Arthur's face has been replaced with open affection by the time Merlin's fully naked, but it feels no less intense as Arthur manhandles him onto the bed, arms splayed out across the covers and arse in the air.

Merlin stares at the blanket on Arthur's obscenely large bed, shivering as Arthur runs a gloved finger down his spine. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off when Arthur gives his rear a sound slap. That," he says, leaning over Merlin's back to breathe hotly in his ear, "is for earlier." He presses a hot kiss to the back of Merlin's neck and gives him another smack before he draws off.

There are several moments of anticipation before Merlin feels Arthur again, spreading his arse cheeks. Merlin has barely any warning before he feels Arthur mouth at his hole. He jumps, earning him another smack, and then relaxes, pushing back against Arthur's tongue with a wanton moan. He feels Arthur say something against him, but he can't hear the words. He whines when Arthur eases off, but he isn't disappointed long. "I did say I would show you," Arthur said as he worked one finger into Merlin's hole with a squelch. It's drier than they usually do, but whatever discomfort Merlin feels is far overshadowed by the sensation of the leather inside him.

"Oh," he gasps, and bucks his hips against the bed, desperately seeking friction. "This is horseplay?"

Arthur's laugh is somehow both smug and fond, but Merlin forgives him as he feels another finger being worked in beside the second. "Well," he says, brushing his other hand against Merlin's hip. "Perhaps foreplay."

* * *

**23.**

Gwen is just finishing arranging Morgana's hair when Morgana says, “I saw you flirting with the new servant boy.”

“He's Gaius's new assistant,” Gwen says after a pause. “And I wasn't _flirting_ , just...welcoming him to Camelot.”

“Do you welcome all new servants? I hadn't noticed.”

“Not all of them! He looked lonely.”

“Do you think he might look _lonely_ because he keeps getting himself thrown into the stocks? You shouldn't bother with such a troublemaker, Gwen.”

“Arthur's being unreasonable and you know it.” Gwen fastens the heavy gold necklace around Morgana's throat, allowing her hands to linger on the warm skin as she bends down to whisper, “Are you jealous, my lady?”

Morgana snorts. “Hardly.” 

Gwen, though, is too well-versed in the angles of Morgana's shoulders and the stubborn jut of her chin to be fooled by so half-hearted a denial. 

“You know I serve you,” Gwen says seriously, stepping around to tug her up from her chair. “There's never been another for me.”

“Don't say it like that.” Morgana cups her hands around Gwen's face, stroking one thumb along her cheek. “Don't make me sound like a duty.” 

Gwen pulls Morgana in with two fingers under her chin. “Never,” she says, and kisses Morgana, closing her eyes at the sweetness of Morgana's soft lips, the warm spices of her perfume. “Nothing about you has ever been _duty_.”

Morgana opens under the kiss, slipping her arms around Gwen's waist to hold her close, and Gwen steps in eagerly, sliding her hands down over Morgana's breasts, enjoying the feel of them beneath the fabric of her dress. The touch makes Morgana hiss through her teeth.

“We shouldn't,” Morgana says. “Dinner—”

“Can wait,” Gwen interrupts firmly. “Not for long,” she adds at Morgana's raised eyebrow; “just long enough.”

“It takes forever to put this dress on,” Morgana protests. “You should know that, of all people.”

Gwen gives her a crooked little smile. “I don't want to take it off,” she says, sinking to her knees and letting her hands trail down Morgana's stomach to her thighs. “I just want to taste you.” She folds her hands around the backs of Morgana's knees, and it doesn't take any more encouragement than that before Morgana is sitting again, bending from the waist to kiss Gwen—deeper, fiercer—while Gwen slips her fingers underneath the beaded hem of the dress.

The hair on Morgana's legs is fine and soft; her skin is softer still, freshly washed and scented, and Gwen takes her time, dancing a teasing touch over Morgana's knees and along the insides of her thighs. Morgana has one hand on Gwen's shoulder, her thumb cutting in just under Gwen's collarbone.

“Gwen...”

“My lady,” Gwen says, turning to press one kiss to Morgana's knuckles before ducking under Morgana's skirts, inhaling deeply. All the perfume in the world couldn't cover this smell: Morgana's own particular scent, heavier now with desire, strange and perfect. Gwen doesn't bother with the niceties. She takes what she wants, fluttering kisses along Morgana's intimate creases, spreading Morgana's lips and sliding her tongue along the hot skin hidden there. Morgana nudges her legs against Gwen's shoulders, but Gwen just loops a hand around Morgana's thigh, moving her fingers in short, calming strokes. 

When Gwen closes her mouth around the sensitive nub and sucks, gently, Morgana gasps. She's never loud when they do this—it's a game Gwen plays with herself, figuring how to get the best noises from Morgana, and each sound she draws out feels like a tiny victory. She doesn't stop: she delves deeper, relishing the wetness on her face as she pushes inside Morgana with tiny licks. Morgana's legs are trembling around her; her breathing is ragged and loud in the stillness of the room. Gwen works her tongue back and forth slowly enough that she knows it's driving Morgana mad. She knows Morgana's eyes will be closed, her lip caught hard between her teeth; she'll have her hands clenched tightly enough that her nails bite into her skin. 

“Gwen,” Morgana says, her voice caught and breaking on a gasp. “Gwen, _please_.”

It's easy—so easy—to slip a finger inside. Morgana is slick, her skin hot against the coolness of Gwen's hand, and Gwen loses herself in this: in the taste of Morgana heavy in her mouth, the feel of Morgana's muscles trembling under her touch; the sound of Morgana quietly falling apart around her—for her.


	6. Group B (no warnings)

**24.**

Arthur sat at his writing desk, watching his servant scrub the floor. Merlin was on his hands and knees, arse in the air and sleeves rolled up, biting his lip as he worked on a particularly rough spot in the chamber. 

Merlin looked over his shoulder at Arthur. “ I feel like a piece of meat under your gaze, Prince Arthur.”

Arthur licked his lips, debating for a moment on whether or not he should simply jump his servant finally because really, it was about time and the boy was basically asking for it. “There is, in fact, something meaty I’d like to eat.” 

Merlin sat back on his haunches, body still faced away. “You seriously want more food? You just ate enough lunch for three men!”

“I didn’t mean food, Merlin,” Arthur said as he rose slowly from his chair, walking over to where Merlin was kneeling. He leaned down slightly, gripping the back of Merlin’s neck firmly and Merlin went rigid and hot underneath his hand. 

“W-what did you want to eat then?” Merlin asked, his voice softer now, losing some of his usual impertinence. 

He leans into whisper against Merlin’s ear. “You.”

Merlin shuddered and tried to turn his head towards Arthur, eyes wide, but Arthur gripped him tighter, forcing his head down. Merlin seemed to panic for a moment before Arthur’s other hand softly stroked down Merlin’s flank, soothing him. His fingers grasped Merlin’s belt, undoing it underneath him and tossed it to the side, pushing Merlin’s shirt up and off as well. 

“Arthur--”

“Shut up,” Arthur chuckled lightly. “Let me enjoy you.” 

Merlin was pink in embarrassment but the shivers displayed his arousal as Arthur’s ran his calloused fingers down Merlin’s back, watching the skin smoothly shift over lithe muscles. Arthur kissed Merlin’s delicate shoulders, fingers and tongue mapping down his spine, watching as Merlin squirmed and gasped beneath him. 

“You’re so pale, Merlin,” Arthur chuckled, pressing his fingers into Merlin’s ribs and sliding his tongue down the knobs of his spine. “So... spindly.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint--”

“Not a disappointment,” Arthur interrupted, tugging at Merlin’s trousers, reaching down to undo the laces and nibbling his shoulder blade. He groaned slightly when he felt Merlin’s cock hardening under his fingers, happy that Merlin was just as aroused as he was at the moment. “You’re quite the opposite-- in this area at least.”

“The area of my body?” Merlin snorted, but his voice was more hesitant that Arthur had ever heard it before. 

“Yes... your body,” Arthur said softly, pulling Merlin’s trousers down to tangle into his boots. “It’s sinful.”

Merlin gasped when his cock was released, shivering harder. Arthur probably should have moved them to the bed by now, but he could barely think with all the pale gorgeous skin-- soft, willowy Merlin-- underneath him. Arthur grasped Merlin’s hips, pressing his thumbs into the indents above his arse and kissed each arsecheek as well. 

Merlin looked over his shoulder at Arthur, his weight on his elbows and Arthur’s breath caught in his chest. Merlin was a rare breed of beautiful, a mix of chiseled sharp features and broad piercing shoulders, hair grown too long and curling around his ears.

He was, in that moment, the most tantalizing thing that Arthur had ever held. Surging forward, Arthur draped across Merlin’s back and crushed his lips against Merlin’s. Merlin moaned into his mouth and his hot slick tongue dove between Arthur’s lips like he had been craving the taste for months. Arthur’s hands were possessive on his sides and Merlin was now rutting his arse back, brushing Arthur’s crotch and it was driving Arthur mad. 

He tore at his trousers, quickly unlacing and pulling out his cock as well. It was already slick with precum and he gasped into Merlin’s mouth as his cock pressed down against Merlin’s arse. Merlin nodded, whimpering slightly and Arthur lowered down, just grinding his cock between Merlin’s arsecheeks, sliding against the small of his back. 

“Arthur-- more--” Merlin whispered frantically, reaching a hand down to stroke his own cock, pushing back against Arthur faster. 

Arthur pushed his cock down to slide between Merlin’s thighs, growling in pleasure as his cock fit perfectly under Merlin’s balls, and felt Merlin sliding his hand down to grasp them both. It was delicious, perfect, unending arousal curling through the back of his spine and-- 

Bliss.

* * *

**25.**

It’s the last night he’ll spend alive. But he can’t think about that now. He needs Merlin, pushes his chest against one of the crumbling pillars in the wreckage they shelter under for the night. Merlin clutches the old stone as Arthur’s fingers move inside him, stretch him open. He listens to the soft moans from Merlin’s swollen lips and watches them.

Merlin watches them as well. Arthur’s knights, naked in the low light which the fire throws against them. Lancelot is on his knees, his legs apart, his back against Leon’s chest. Leon presses bruising kisses to Lancelot’s shoulder and moves his fingers inside him, stretches Lancelot open, makes him groan into Gwaine’s mouth. Gwaine kisses Lancelot hard, angles his head so Arthur sees his tongue slide into Lancelot’s mouth. 

Arthur adds a third finger when Leon does, mirrors his movements, feels Merlin shudder against him.

Through the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Elyan and Percival move together. Though he doesn’t know exactly what they’re doing because he can’t look away when Leon’s cock pushes inside Lancelot. He breaks away from Gwaine’s mouth, rolls his head back against Leon’s shoulder, utters a low cry. Leon stills for a moment, lets Lancelot adjust and Gwaine starts to kiss down Lancelot’s neck, along his collarbone, drags his tongue over his nipples.

Gwaine doesn’t look away from Leon when he lowers himself down, runs his tongue achingly slowly up Lancelot’s hard cock.

Merlin moans with Lancelot. Arthur moves his hips slowly, thrusts his cock bit by bit inside Merlin. He buries his nose into his dark hair, breathes the scent of earth and grass which always clings to him. 

Upon approaching the group, Percival kneels behind Gwaine, sticks a thumb up his arse. Gwaine spreads his knees, groans low as he takes most of Lancelot’s cock in his mouth. Arthur moans as he imagines the vibrations which rumble inside Lancelot, make him cry out and writhe as Leon thrusts up inside him.

Percival leans over Gwaine to kiss Lancelot and then speaks quietly to him. Arthur can’t hear what he says, but Lancelot gives a smile and a slight nod before he turns his head to nuzzle Leon’s jawline.

When Percival pushes his cock into Gwaine his thrusts are slow and powerful. Gwaine pushes his hips back against him and moans loudly. The noise vibrates up Lancelot, makes him arch his back, cry out and Leon’s hold around him tightens.

“ _Arthur!_ ” Merlin pushes himself back against Arthur’s cock, rakes his fingernails down the stone pillar. He tries to shift himself and Arthur reaches down to take one of Merlin’s legs. Lifts it, bends the knee and it opens Merlin that bit more. Arthur thrusts into him harder and harder, almost lets himself get lost in Merlin’s desperate calls of his name.

But not lost enough to stop watching. Elyan stands over Gwaine and Lancelot takes his erection into his mouth. Percival roughly pumps one hand up and down Gwaine’s cock, draws the other around Elyan’s waist. Percival’s tongue circles Elyan’s anus a few times before pushing up, just as Leon reaches around Lancelot to tease his fingertips against Elyan’s balls.

As Percival fucks him, Gwaine moans loudly with Lancelot’s cock in his mouth, moves his tongue up and down. That and Leon deep inside him is how Lancelot comes first, keeps his lips around Elyan’s cock as he gives a long low cry. The vibrations thrum inside Elyan, twist up with the sensation of Percival’s pulsating tongue inside him and the way Leon knows just how to touch him. He clutches Lancelot’s hair as he releases into his mouth.

Elyan’s attentions turn to Percival as he and Gwaine finish each other off. When Leon takes his chin to turn his head, Lancelot opens his mouth, let’s Leon’s tongue press against his to take some of Elyan’s essence.

Arthur utters a shaky curse into Merlin’s neck as his body tightens and he presses his face into Merlin’s hair, holds him close and comes inside him.

Merlin tentatively pulls away, turns in the little space Arthur leaves between himself and the pillar. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles, draws his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and presses their spent bodies together to kiss him softly.

Arthur closes his eyes, falls back into that small world where it’s just him and Merlin. The plan to sacrifice himself is bound to come up later so he’ll keep this moment as long as he can.

* * *

**26.**

Gwen could say that she has no idea why the ghost of Uther Pendragon would hate her enough to try to kill her, but that would be a lie. And as it is, she does lie, just like she has lied by ommission for years. She lets everyone make their assumptions about why Uther might hate her, and they're all very reasonable deductions. 

There is no reason to tell them the truth. The truth is only hers to live with and it will stay that way. 

If it hadn't been for Arthur, she wouldn't have been ashamed of it. She wouldn't have cared who knew. She was young, having a good time with men was something she enjoyed and it wasn't uncommon for the royalty to find pleasure in the commoners who worked for them. 

It was innocent pleasure and festivity. And she was hardly the only one. She had seen and heard her fair share of others, which she had never found problematic. The king was alone, after all, and he never took advantage of those already committed elsewhere. 

She remembers his hands on her hips still, using his tight grip on her skin to pull her back into his rhythm. He would press her down onto the table once everyone had cleared out after a feast, holding her down as he took her hard and fast. She remembers the urgency of it and the pure pleasure of just having someone inside her, someone who knew how to make her moan open mouthed into the still air. 

He was the first man she bedded who didn't fumble, who wasn't over eager. There was a precision to the way he opened her up, thrusting into her until she was gripping at whatever she could reach. 

Sometimes he would speak to her, telling her filthy things about her wrapped around his cock. Sometimes he'd make her talk, making her remember who she was bedding. And the one night he actually took her to bed, she'd screamed herself hoarse as he filled her over and over again, many times until she was limp and exhausted. 

He had never hated her then, but back then she had been in her place. She had known where she belonged and never overstepped her boundaries even if the king occasionally took her for their mutual pleasure. 

He had taken her on the throne once. Her thighs had straddled him as he lowered her down on his cock. He'd reached in and kissed her neck, his lips soft and unexpected on her skin as she felt herself open around him, pulling him in until he could go no longer. 

She controlled them for once, bracing herself against his shoulders as she rode him, hips circling in his lap with his hot breath on her neck. It was good, it was exciting, he was wide and hard inside her in a way that she loved. 

He'd told her then, how lucky she was to sit on the throne. He'd thrust his cock into her, his big hands on her skin, and told her that only a few select people would ever grace the throne of Camelot and this was her one chance - her single opportunity to know what the royal throne felt like. 

He was wrong. 

And that's why he hates her.

* * *

**27.**

There was so much work to do leading up to the royal wedding that Merlin barely had a chance to catch his breath, much less reflect on how absolutely shitty he felt about the entire situation. From dawn until long past dusk, Arthur had him running ragged. And if Arthur wasn't bossing him around, then it was Gaius sending him hither and yon, or Yorick sending him off to see to something in the kitchen, or a maid from the laundry begging him for assistance. It went on and on. He fell into bed every night, exhausted and numb, too worn out to give the situation much thought. 

But the night before the marital feast, Merlin found himself released from all official duties. Arthur was celebrating with his knights. Gaius had completed his preparations and had gone to bed early. The kitchen fires were burning hot, roasting pigs and venison, and the rooms were prepared for all the guests that would be descending on them in the morning. Merlin, released from the chains of duty, was allowed to wander where he wished, to rest or to drink or, as was the case, hide and sulk. 

Everything was changing. Nothing would ever be the same again. It was one thing to pine for the prince, it was quite another entirely to pine for a married King. He'd still be Arthur's manservant, but things would be forever changed between them. The carefree days were over, and soon Merlin would probably have to marry himself. Soon there would be children. Did Arthur feel this same sense of loss? It was hard to say if Arthur felt anything at all for Merlin anymore. They hadn't seen each other since the announcement of his betrothal. 

Merlin found himself on the battlements, overlooking the lower town. The pub's windows glowed brightly and he could hear the revelry where he stood. Most of that was probably due to Gawain, but the whole town seemed to be starting the celebrations early. Did any of the miss him? It was best to avoid them, he knew. He needed the whole night to work on his fake smile. 

“Why aren't you drinking a toast to your king?” 

Arthur's voice didn't startle him. “I'm saving my toast for tomorrow.” 

“I see.” 

“Why aren't you with your men, sire?” 

“They only needed me to get it started.” He stood to close to Merlin, letting their shoulders touched as he leaned against the battlement. He took a deep breath, like he intended to say something, but exhaled and remained in silence. Merlin leaned his weight into Arthur's body, his eyes traveling over the expanse of the kingdom, to the moonrise. 

“Are you happy for me, Merlin?” 

“Since when do you care if I'm happy for any reason?” He meant it in jest, but it didn't sound like he was jesting. Arthur didn't take it as a jest. 

“I do care about your happiness.” He sounded solemn and confused, like he meant it but he didn't know why. 

“I care about your happiness as well. I'm happy that you are happy.” 

Arthur snorted.   
“What?” 

“You could sound more convincing.” 

“I am. I'll miss it though.” 

“What?”

“You know.” 

Arthur took him by the arm and yanked him around. His grip was tight. Merlin felt it all the way to the bone. His breath caught and he found it very hard to meet Arthur's eyes. So he didn't see it coming when Arthur lowered his head, wasn't prepared for the sudden heat of Arthur's mouth on his, the demanding pressure of his tongue. Merlin naturally parted his lips, though, allowing entrance, returning the caress with as much force as he could muster, his exhaustion forgotten. 

The kiss didn't last for long, but time seemed to stop. Merlin's lips throbbed and his hand went to the back of Arthur's neck, grasping for something to hold onto. Something that would keep him from falling in a light-headed faint. His senses absorbed every detail about the body he knew so well, and the only regret he had was that it would be over so soon. So he kissed like it was their final goodbye and their first greeting. Like it was a promise of a lifetime. A vow for eternity. 

Merlin kissed him so hard, it was all Arthur felt on the day he exchanged his vows. Branded, he felt it every remaining day of his life.

* * *

**28.**

“He still hasn’t moved. It’s been hours!”

Merlin spoke to Gaius in a loud whisper, his eyes trained on the darkened corner where Arthur sat half hidden by shadows - A grim statue ever since they witnessed Morgause take the crown from Uther’s head and bestow it upon their newly revealed enemy, Morgana. 

“I’m sure you can understand, Merlin, he has a lot to process.”

Merlin frowned, feeling utterly useless. One of Arthur’s hands was pressed into his hair, his shoulders slumped in a way painfully unbefitting of him.

Gaius touched Merlin’s shoulder. “He needs to know he’s not alone.” 

When Merlin finally approached Arthur, Gaius had quietly ushered the others away, leaving the cave unmercifully silent. Merlin kneeled down before the despondent Prince, holding out a bowl in offering.

“It’s rat,” Merlin coaxed, reaching for a joking tone. “Oh believe me, you’ve eaten far worse.”

“-Merlin, for once, leave me in peace… Please.” 

Merlin sighed, placing the bowl down. Whenever Arthur asked to be left alone were the times Merlin knew he most needed company.

“I’ve known her all my life,” Arthur anguished, “How could she do this to us?”

“I can’t answer that, but you have a duty to your father, to your people. You cannot give up on them now.”

“I cannot defeat an immortal army.” Arthur stated the negative with somber, resigned finality that struck Merlin hard. In that bout of silence, Arthur looked up at him with eyes hollowed by hurt, and everything was wrong. “There’s nothing to be done, Merlin. I have nothing. No plan, no forces, no allies to rely on. My father lied to me – about my sister, about my birthright. Morgana’s betrayed me.” He swallowed around a break in his voice. “I have no one.”

“That’s not true. There are still countless people who would give their lives for you, who would do anything to help see you restored.” But Arthur still had that hollow look in his eyes, so Merlin moved to kneel directly in front of him. “You cannot refute the truth of that, when one of them kneels before you right now.”

Merlin took one of the dispirited Prince’s hands between his own, and pressed it over his own heart.

“You still have me. You always will.” 

And even in a soft voice, the oath in his voice brooked no argument.

Arthur’s face crumpled slightly, his fingers tightening against the fabric of Merlin’s shirt. His hand rose quickly to the side of Merlin’s face. 

“Merlin…,” Arthur’s voice came out all splintered and crumpled still, and Merlin instinctively turned his face into Arthur’s hand in attempt to heal it.

Merlin remembered Gaius’ words, as the almost-desperate press of Arthur’s fingers conveyed just how distant from his familiar shore Arthur had been abandoned. Merlin knew it was his duty to bring Arthur back. 

Merlin reached out for more contact, his hand against Arthur’s chest. Arthur gave a soft, thankful shudder of a breath. Despite the instinct that this was right, Merlin’s eyes constantly flickered back to Arthur’s as his hands trailed downwards to undo Arthur’s breeches. Arthur’s eyes were still too far gone to show disapproval. 

Arthur was soft when Merlin bent down to take him between his lips, but that didn’t matter. Merlin sucked softly, slowly taking in more to cradle in his warm mouth. As Arthur grew hard, his noises from above Merlin began to turn from broken things almost of pain – into breathy surrenderings of pleasure. It took a long time with the gentle, non-insistent motions of Merlin’s mouth and the soothing suction of his lips, but eventually Arthur’s sounds peaked into a pure, solid exclamation, finally grounding him in the world he’d lost sight of. His return was greeted by the final overflow of sensations from Merlin’s swallowing mouth. It felt like unquestionable solidarity.

Fingers stroked through Merlin’s hair as Merlin’s tongue carefully cleaned Arthur, before fastening everything closed again and leaning back. His eyes sought Arthur’s timidly.

“You know, Merlin, very occasionally, quite by accident, you say something useful. If I didn’t know you, I’d be completely fooled into thinking you were…,” Arthur’s face shifted from goading into something serious in its fondness. “…wise.”

Merlin shared Arthur’s focused look for a moment, before his impish smile broke into the air. “Me? Nah.”

Merlin stood and extended a hand. Arthur appraised him for a moment, the beginnings of a real smile starting to collect on his face. He seized Merlin’s hand, and rose to his feet.

* * *

**29.**

Will's keen eyes notice Hunith's hands trembling slightly as she rearranges the worn shawl draped across her shoulders. He jabs his bare foot into Merlin's bony one under the cramped table, where they're sitting on short wooden stools enjoying identical bowls of hot potato soup for dinner.

Startled out of his enthusiastic broth-slurping, Merlin drops his spoon and it disappears with a little splash. Before he can retrieve it, he catches sight of Hunith, sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, eyes unseeing. "Mum?" Merlin asks worriedly.

She stands and the smile she gives him is familiar; soft and distant. "Don't worry about me. It's been a long day... I think I'll get some rest. Please tidy up when you're finished." On her way out, she drops a kiss on Merlin's head, smoothing back his dark, wild fringe. "Love you."

"G'night, mum," he murmurs.

"You boys help yourself to dessert," she adds, disappearing into her room.

" _Someone_ already did," Will grumbles under his breath, earning him a well-placed kick to the shins. Earlier, Hunith sent them to pick berries while she made dinner and Merlin ate more berries than he picked, which stained his fingertips an incriminating dark blue.

Will slides the bowl brimming with berries across the table to Merlin.

"Oh no," he laughs, pushing his stool back from the table and patting his stomach. "After all that soup? No way."

Will idly traces the rim of the bowl. "You sure? The Merlin I know would eat whole villages if given the chance." He smirks.

Merlin scowls. "You're confusing me with yourself again."

"Am I? Dare you to eat the whole bloody bowl."

"Seriously?" Merlin scoffs.

Will shrugs. "I'm bored."

"Yeah, but--"

"Yes or no?"

Ever stubborn, Merlin sits back and folds his arms. "Okay, I will, actually. But only if you tell me why you care so much."

"Cause you're so fuckin' skinny!" The lie comes to mind as it leaves his lips and his face heats. "Need some meat on those scrawny-ass bones."

Merlin chuckles "Blackberries are hardly meat, Will," he says, but dips his long fingers into the bowl indulgently, scooping up a few, popping them in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "I've always been a lightweight."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Will mutters.

"Okay, okay, I'm eating, you great ninny!" He chucks a berry at Will's face, but misses wildly. "I swear, you're worse than my mum sometimes."

***

"Shite," Will hisses, drinking in the scene with wide eyes.

The plain tunic that normally hangs loose on Merlin's thin frame now strains with the exaggerated curve of his full belly, making him appear several months pregnant. One of his hands curls gently around his swell, which adda to the effect. Merlin keeps his gaze downturned, but the sweep of his long, sooty lashes against his flushed cheeks only makes Will's heart thud harder.

"Merlin." Will's voice comes out strangely, and still Merlin doesn't acknowledge him. He swallows. "Look at me." 

Slowly, Merlin raises his head, his lovely deep blue eyes smoldering so resentfully that Will can't decide if it's better to bolt and avoid certain death, or stay and drink in as much as he can of Merlin's state.

"Fuckin' lovely like this." The words escape him without thought and he blushes violently and cups his dick, which throbs harder than ever at the innocent confusion registering on Merlin's face. He groans. "You have no idea, do you? I'm so for you hard right now. I'm _wet_ , Merlin, like a bloody _girl_ , do you understand?"

Merlin licks his lips, a predatory gleam dawning in his eyes. "You're such a whore, Will. Making me do this just so you could get off." He pulls his tunic up, baring the pale curve of his belly. "This what you wanted?" Merlin coos, and Will chokes on a cry.

"Thought about this so many times, skinny lil you, feedin' till you're all fat an' full..."

"Put it here," Merlin tells him, fingers playing in the hollow of his belly button.

Will shoves his trousers down without preamble and his cock springs free, flushed and dripping at the tip. Obediently, he presses his sticky cockhead to warm skin, moaning as Merlin reaches back to squeeze and knead his clenched ass.

"You're gonna cum just like this, Will, all over my poor stuffed belly. Please, I'm so full," he whines, "I want you to. Hard."

He can't tell if Merlin really means it, but it doesn't really matter; he's undone.

* * *

**30.**

Merin had found himself feeling a little jaded lately by castle life; Arthur’s constant manhandling, not to mention his own ever-dwindling hope that magic might one day be accepted in Camelot. After the havoc Elyan had wreaked since being possessed, Merlin expected Arthur becoming increasingly hardened toward magic, and Merlin felt the possibly of ever revealing his true self to the king and kingdom dwindle just a bit more. Instead, the incident had resulted in Arthur entering their sacred space, and promising no further hostilities toward the Druid people.

It had been a quiet journey to Camelot. There was Elyan to take look after, and Arthur seemed lost in his own thoughts. Haunted by his past? Perhaps also having found peace for something that had long grieved him? Arthur’s sincerity, and his willingness to subject himself to whatever punishment the Druids saw fit to levy upon him for his misdeeds had shown the spirit (and Merlin) the compassionate King that Merlin knew was there, in the man he believed would be Camelot’s finest monarch.

He didn’t expect Arthur’s demeanor toward him to have changed any since last night’s events. But Merlin had found within himself a hope he had thought long gone, and couldn’t help but smile as he began his daily chores in Arthur’s chamber, telling him just how moved he was by last night’s events. Merlin had been feeling rather beaten down by his master of late, but today he felt only pride. 

Offering Arthur a hug, Merlin fully expected a smack on the head or a snide comment. Instead, Arthur had tackled him to the floor. Despite Arthur’s constant reminders of how inferior he was physically, Merlin had learned to use his height, sharp elbows and whatever wiry strength he possessed to his advantage. Of course, Arthur *was* the stronger, and better trained, so it wasn’t long before Merlin found himself pinned by the King. Breathing heavily, he looked up at Arthur and realized with dread that his trousers had an undeniable tent in them. 

Feeling embarrassed, Merlin flushed and began to wriggle out toward escape. He was on the verge of revealing one of his two secrets from Arthur, the first being the magic, the second being that his found his king attractive beyond anyone else Merlin had ever laid eyes on. To his great surprise, Arthur said nothing, but instead ground his hips toward Merlin’s revealing a the hardness that had grown in his own breeches.

A hundred thoughts ran through Merlin’s head. Was this just an outlet from the stress of recent events? Gwen's banishment, Elyan’s attempt on Arthur’s life, having emotionally relive what had obviously been one of the darker points of Arthur’s young knighthood, the daily stress of a kingdom on his shoulder...Arthur's sources of stress were many. Was Merlin just a convenient outlet? 

All thoughts of rationalization and the possible inadvisability of _this actually happening_ vanished as Arthur ground down against him again. Gods, but this felt good. He could feel Arthur’s hardness against his own, hot even through both their trousers, and Merlin felt his eyes roll back in his head as the friction increased. He didn’t dare speak, but found himself moving in time with Arthur’s thrusts, quickening the pace. It wasn’t long untilhe felt Arthur go tight tighten as a bowstring. Arthur cast his head back and all Merlin saw was the King’s face, hair light up by the morning sun filtering through the windows brighter than any crown could ever be. 

Merlin was still in the haze of his orgasm but quickly snapped out of it as the enormity of what had just happened hit him. He quickly extracted himself from underneath Arthur, attempting to beat a hasty retreat. 

“Merlin, wait,” Arthur said, getting up from the floor “About what just happened-”

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. I just don’t....” Merlin trailed off, unable to think of a good response to this situation.

“I just want you to know that I value your presence very highly.” Arthur said, eyes fixed squarely on Merlin’s “And that will never change.”

“Thank you. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll always be here, Arthur. I mean it.”

Arthur smiled. “I know. Now go see to your clothes,” he said, gesturing toward the telltale wet spot on Merlin’s trousers “And I expect my breakfast shortly.”

“Of course, sire. I’ll....see it to it.” Merlin said. With that, he left Arthur’s chambers, closing the door behind him. Merlin didn’t know if this was some kind of new beginning between them but he couldn’t help but hope that his dream of a life without secrets was so impossible after all.

* * *

**31.**

She lets out a dry sob when she sees the campfire, comforting voices drifting on the wind, mixing with the smells of cooked meat and herbs.

Kara sees her first. Their eyes lock over the flames, and Sefa stills for a moment. She wants to cry—so relieved and happy to see a beloved face—but all she can manage is a high whimper. She’s emptied her body of all the tears she could shed, leaving a salty trail in the dirt between her father’s dead body and her own, until she was as dry as a field in a drought.

Kara says “Sefa!” in a voice that jars Sefa out of her ache, into the sudden realization of safety, and Sefa lets herself fall in her opened arms, burying her face in Kara’s neck where she smells like earth, herbal soap, and smoke. 

She’s vaguely aware of Kara telling the other Druids that everything’s fine (no it isn’t) that she’ll take care of it (like she always has), guiding Sefa toward the river.

Only when they’re in the shadows of the big oak tree they used to climb as children, with the moon as their light, does Kara let go of Sefa’s wrist and holds her face between her hands, peppering it with kisses, pushing on Sefa’s skin as if to make sure she’s really there, not even trying to hide the trembling of her fingers on her cheeks.

Sefa breathes out slowly. Kara’s warmth seeps into her while she take Sefa’s dress off slowly, the fabric stiff and heavy with dry mud and dirt from when she had to crawl in a swamp, and under uprooted trees, to hide from Camelot’s knights.

The river water’s cool on her bare skin and she shivers. She sits down on the rocky bottom, submerged to the neck, letting the water flow over her to wash away the grit that seems to cling to her like it belongs, like dirty is her new state of being.

Kara’s hands are strong on Sefa’s scalp when she leans back, soaking her hair, tender on the muscles of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone and breasts. Sefa’s fingers find Kara’s naked thigh under the water, and she pushes with her fingertips on the inside, where it’s soft, where she remembers biting once, long ago, and the lovely, happy sound Kara had made at that moment, clenching hard on Sefa’s fingers moving in and out of her body. Sefa pretends she can still feel the teeth marks there. 

They get out of the water and lie down on the grass, Kara’s touch fast and sure over Sefa’s ribs, her mouth wet on her shoulder.

Sefa focuses on that: the way Kara’s fingers are familiar, how they know Sefa’s body by heart, and the soft-hard feeling of her breasts and nipples against hers. She wraps her legs around Kara’s waist, trying to get her closer, into her skin, into that place inside her chest where things are bright, golden, and unbroken, like they used to be.

She’s haunted. Haunted by the ghosts she saw, for the first time, in Mordred’s eyes after his father’s death. The same ones she saw in her own people over and over, but in the Queen’s eyes too. And Merlin’s. Even the King’s. 

Haunted little houses, all of them.

“We heard about your father,” Kara says against Sefa’s ear, her hand hot and heavy between Sefa’s thigh, pushing two fingers inside her while her thumb rubs steady circles on Sefa’s clit that make her moan. She can only make sounds, has no words anymore. “They’ll pay. I swear to all the Gods, Camelot and the Pendragons will pay.”

Her words burn Sefa’s skin. 

She buries her hand into Kara’s hair and Kara nips and licks feverishly at Sefa’s jaw, pumping her fingers in and out of her at an increasing pace, hot and dizzying.

“I’ll kill them all. I’ll—I’ll make them pay for what they did. I swear. I’ll kill them. I’ll—”

Sefa doesn’t really listen, just pushes back with her hips, focusing more on the heat building in her stomach. She thinks of the ghosts inside of her, inside of everyone. She thinks of Merlin’s smile, of the Queen’s gentle hand on hers, of her father’s last words, and she loses herself in all of it—nothing makes sense anymore, and she doesn’t know where or how to stand and look and breathe. 

She comes hard and unexpectedly, staring at the dark space between the stars.

* * *

**32.**

Morgana smirked as Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and the magic of the Fomorroh took hold over him and he stopped struggling.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Morgana asked. She circled around Merlin, pleased when his posture changed and he went limp against the bindings.

“My lady?” Merlin questioned when Morgana stood in front of him again.

“I missed hearing those words from your sweet lips, Merlin,” Morgana said as she ran her hand down the middle of Merlin’s torso. “How about we get rid of those wet clothes?”

Morgana didn’t wait for an answer she just waved a hand and used her magic to will the clothing to a pile on the floor. Merlin shivered from the sudden chill and Morgana took the opportunity to lightly scrape her nail against one of Merlin’s exposed nipples. She was satisfied when he shivered again and the first bumps of gooseflesh covered his skin. She pinched the nipple and felt it harden between her fingers.

“No, no touching for you. Just stay there and let me take care of you,” Morgana said when Merlin began to struggle against the restraints in a futile attempt to get closer to her. She placed a firm hand on his chest to keep him in place and placed her palm on his cock. Morgana noted that he was already growing hard in her hand and stroked him once before withdrawing completely.

Merlin whimpered and opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when Morgana placed her hand against his mouth.

“Don’t make me gag you, Merlin,” Morgana teased. “At least not yet, I have something special for that later.”

Morgana turned towards her book of spells and flipped the pages until she found what she wanted. She muttered the incantation under her breath and was gratified when the snakes began to flow from the pages.

Snakes of various lengths and sizes slithered their way down the table and towards her captor. Merlin’s eyes were wide and his body tensed when the first snake circled around his ankle and scaled his body easily. Merlin was soon covered with the undulating snakes and he could do nothing but moan at the sensation of being touched everywhere at once.

Morgana’s breath hitched at the sound of Merlin’s moans and her core muscles clenched involuntarily at the sight he presented. Merlin’s eyes were dark with lust and Morgana knew that she’d have to slow things down if she wanted in pleasure of her own.

“Stop,” she commanded the snakes. They ceased their movements but stayed in place. Morgana walked over to Merlin and brought her hand to his cock. The snake instantly wound itself against her own wrist. She brought it to her lips and whispered a few words before letting it wind against Merlin’s leaking cock again. The snakes began to move again but their pace was torturingly slow and Merlin groaned in protest.

Morgana smiled and slid her hand up underneath her dress to press her fingers hard against her clit.

“Fuck,” Merlin managed to gasp out as his eyes swept up and down Morgana’s body in anticipation. One of the snakes slid into Merlin’s mouth and muffled whatever words he was about to say.

“Now,” Morgana commanded and the snakes started to contract against Merlin, squeezing him. Morgana moved her hand lower and pushed two of her fingers up inside her wet cunt. She groaned at the fullness and clenched greedily around them. Merlin’s muffled groan assured her that he was being breached in the same manner, though she couldn’t see the snake that was making it’s way inside him.

She groaned in need as her thumb brushed against her clit and she began to fuck her fingers in and out of her cunt in earnest. Merlin’s muffled grunts of pleasure told her that the snakes were following her own tempo. She wouldn’t last long like this, but she wasn’t worried. There could always be a repeat performance before she returned Merlin to his king.

Morgana crowded up against Merlin and was pleased when the snake wrapped around his cock guided him into her. The snake that was gagging him moved out of the way as Morgana leaned forward to capture Merlin’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

It was over in that moment. Morgana’s control shattered and she moaned uncontrollably as they climaxed together.

* * *

**33.**

As soon as Lance and him join the others on the Isle of the Blessed, all the knights, and Arthur in his own way, tell him how glad they are to have him back. They gather in a circle around the fire camp, but the atmosphere is tense, nothing to do with the usual chatter; Gwaine’s adventures, Percy’s jokes, and Leon’s boring prattle that always lulls them all to sleep. There’s nothing of that tonight, the only sound gracing their ears are the cracking of the fire, the hissing of the air as it twirls around them and some distant birds and crows as they sing and howl. 

The knowledge of what is to happen weights upon them, and the knights retire earlier than Merlin has ever seen, huddling close to the fire and turning their backs on Merlin and Arthur, who stay awake to talk in hushed voices about what’s going to happen when they are face to face with the gatekeeper. 

“I’ll take your place,” Merlin tells Arthur when Arthur talks about the sacrifice. It’s the right thing to do, what he’s supposed to do, his duty, his destiny. He’d give his life for Arthur once and again because Arthur is everything to him.

But Arthur shakes his head, says Merlin’s name in that tone that makes his heart squeeze with a wave of emotions, and Merlin is even more convinced that he has to do this. 

When Merlin whispers that he’s going to sleep he stands up and steps over the fallen trunk he had been leaning against as carefully as he can, so as not to wake up the knights, but as he sits down on the hard ground at Arthur’s feet, Arthur grabs Merlin’s arm. Merlin turns his head around to look at him, a question in his eyes. _Is there something you need?_ , Merlin looks back at him with intent.

 _No, I only need you_ , Arthur’s eyes speak to him, but Merlin pushes it all aside, squirming under the heat of Arthur’s gaze as he continues holding his arm and looking at him silently. 

When Arthur tugs at him and presses their lips together, Merlin understand what Arthur is asking for. And he gives in. He knows Arthur is doing this because he believes he’s not going to make it past tomorrow, that he will give himself to the spirit world, but Merlin is the one who truly knows that won’t happen because he will be the one to cross the veil. He’ll leave Arthur unconscious if he has to only so he ensures Arthur doesn’t try to stop him when he offers himself in his place

So this is goodbye for them. Arthur kisses him hungrily in his own way to say _, and Merlin in turn caresses Arthur’s body to convey all the things he’s always told Arthur; that he’ll be the best King history has ever known, that he has faith in him and that it’ll be an honour to gives his life for him._

Neither says it out loud, but Merlin knows it’s there. One of them won’t be back in Camelot by tomorrow, so tonight feels like the best moment to open up and do everything that they have suppressed in the years they’ve known each other. 

When Arthur lies him down and settles on top of him, hitching his hips with need against him and leaving wet kisses all over Merlin’s face and throat, Merlin thinks a silent spell to muffle all the noises they can make and to drive the knights to a deeper sleep. He doesn’t want their friends finding out what they are up to, this is theirs and only theirs and Merlin wants to enjoy without worrying. Arthur seems to barely be aware that there are other people, he’s so desperate with need that Merlin’s body flares and he forgets. 

They bring each other off like that, just rutting like animals and touching and grasping arms and faces and hips, and breathing too harsh to awake even the dead spirits in the other side of the veil.

When Arthur meets his eyes as his orgasm fades, Merlin heart aches. Whatever happens tomorrow, Merlin will have this moment, and the knowledge that the man he loves will be safe.

* * *

**34.**

Lancelot looks at her, beautiful brown curls and big, anxious, brown eyes. He loves her, but to him that's always been clear. He truly will never love another the way he loves her; he is about to die. 

But she isn't, and Lancelot sees the way Arthur looks at her, the way even Leon and Gwaine do when they think no one is looking.

Gwen will love again. It is all right. She deserves that.

-

Gwen means it when she tells him, "I will never love another the way I love you."

When Arthur asks her to marry him, she says yes to another man. When he fucks her their first night together, her hair wild as he pushes deep into her, her hands and knees hold up a different body. She screams Arthur's name, but her heart aches for another.

She lets herself go, gets carried away with the way the cock inside her feels. If she closes her eyes hard enough it's almost as if Lance is the one whispering to her. It's almost him slipping fingers between her thighs and bringing her off.

Almost.

-

She dreams of him often, rarely speaks his name because it's the only thing she has left of him. She dreams his smile, the way his brown eyes loved her, how his hand felt when he held her. She closes her eyes and sees his brown hair, hears the way his voice always softened when he spoke to her.

She loves Arthur, she does. 

But when Lancelot walks back into Camelot, Gwen knows she can never love Arthur the same way. And it saddens her, because Arthur deserves more, but she can't. 

Her heart cannot hold that much.

-

Lancelot's memories have not done Gwen justice. She is resplendent in the light of the throne room. He aches from wanting to touch her, to press his face into her curls, and hold her close. She won't look away, and Lance can't even though he knows Arthur will wonder.

He waits, watches how Gwen moves with Arthur, how their hands brush together. It hurts, more than Lance thought it would, to see how she loves another. 

Gwen is the one who sends him the note. 

He's in the empty throne room five minutes later.

She comes in half an hour later, her purple dress rustling against the stone floor. Lance forgets that he is no longer allowed in her life. He has to touch her, to feel her cheek against his hand. He moves, a step, and then she's running to him, and how could he have ever thought that she might not love him?

"Lance," she whispers. "I thought you were dead."

"No," he says, his forehead pressed to hers. "No. Never."

-

Lance takes so long to kiss her. He runs his hands into her hair, breathes her in, and whispers things into her ear. Gwen closes her eyes and memorizes the sound of Lance's voice, the warmth of his hands. Her heart is aching, her whole body trembling so hard it takes her a while to realize that Lance is trembling too.

"I love you," they say together.

It's their first kiss, brusing and breaking them even as it makes them whole. Gwen wants to cry from how well they fit, from how _right_ they feel.

-

"I am so sorry," she tells Arthur later, but she isn't. 

She could never be sorry for the way she loves Lancelot, so easy, so soft.

-

When she comes back to Camelot and to Arthur, she has lost Lancelot twice. She no longer feels anything but rough fucks against tables. Sometimes, when Arthur's too blond hair and his loving smiles are too much, she goes to Leon, lets him slide between her legs and run his tongue between her thighs. She tangles her fingers in his curls, pets him and murmurs his name, because he's gentle, so so gentle.

She likes to think that Lance would have been gentle to her too.

* * *

**35.**

“Why won’t you admit you have a girl? Gwen already told me.”

“Because,” Merlin says, “I don’t.”

Arthur snorts. 

\---

“Tell me about her.”

“Who?”

“The girl,” Arthur says. “Is she pretty?”

“Drop it.”

“So she’s not, then.” 

Merlin storms out. 

\---

“Where’d you meet her?”

They’re in Arthur’s chambers. The tankard of wine between them has emptied steadily since supper. Merlin’s let down his guard; Arthur chose the moment purposely. Arthur watches as it takes a moment for the words to filter through the wine-fog in Merlin’s brain.

“Why do you care?”

Arthur doesn’t want to think about why this has been bothering him, so he latches on to the obvious. “I don’t like secrets between us.”

“I’m not keeping anything from you.” The guilty dart of Merlin’s eyes says differently.

“Merlin...”

“Ugh! Fine.” Merlin pours them each another glass. “Her name is... Fran.”

Arthur thinks maybe Merlin’s lying. Like he’s just come up with that now, but the alcohol they’ve consumed makes it hard to tell, and Merlin’s got no reason to lie.

“She’s a servant in a neighbouring village. We met one afternoon when I was gathering herbs for Gaius in the Darkling woods.”

“Very romantic. You were probably covered in dirt and sweat.”

Merlin smiles for a moment, giving Arthur a soft look. “I was. And so was she. We didn’t care. We walked together, talking of herbs and rare plants -- nothing _you_ would be interested in -- until we came upon a stream.”

“I know the one.” He and Merlin often stopped there when they travelled through that area. It is, indeed, a beautiful place for falling in love. Arthur’s heart clenches, inexplicably.

“Yes, you do.” Merlin’s eyes fall to his cup.

Arthur wonders if the story might end here. He isn’t quite ready for it to stop though, so he kicks Merlin beneath the table. “Don’t tell me that’s it? You let your love walk away?”

Merlin smirks and shakes his head. “We laughed and joked like old friends while we filled our water bags. Then, as she leaned too far forward, her shirt got wet.”

“Oh.”

“It clung to her chest. It was distracting. And I -- I fell in.”

“You what?”

“I fell in!” Merlin says, almost coy. “You know me.” 

Arthur remembers Merlin in that same stream, the bright sunlight shining off his wet face. It was a little more than a year ago.

“Fran grabbed my hand, giggling to bursting. The next thing I knew we were both in the stream.”

“You’re an idiot.” Which was exactly why Arthur hadn’t offered to help Merlin that day. He’d laughed and watched while Merlin found his way back to the riverbank. 

“She didn’t think so, I guess, because she kissed me.” 

Arthur swallows; he’s had too much wine, it seems. It’s turning sour in his stomach. 

“We sat in the cold stream and kissed until we were shivering.” Merlin’s eyes never leave his, ensuring Arthur’s catching every word. 

“You’re both fools then.” Arthur’s voice sounds off.

“When we got out, we stripped down, laid our clothes out on the rocks.” 

“Merlin!” Arthur gasps, pulse racing. 

Merlin shrugs. “We were caught up in the moment.” 

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. His cock’s pushing against his laces as his imagination soars. 

“Too much?” There’s a challenge in Merlin’s voice. Amusement. 

Arthur huffs. “Go on.”

“I tasted her that day.” Merlin takes a sip of wine, eyes closed. “I put my face between her legs, Arthur.” The look he gives Arthur is piercing. “I worshipped her with my mouth until her body arched like a bow. Her cries set the sparrows fleeing from the trees.”

Beneath the table Arthur presses his palm to his cock, rubbing as discreetly as he can. 

“Once she was sated and dripping between her thighs, I took my own pleasure. Oh, Arthur, she was so hot, tight and slippery. I held her hips and she met my every thrust with a wanton moan.”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it only makes the image clearer: Merlin’s pale skin, shimmering with sweat, rolling his hips over and over. It isn’t a faceless woman Arthur saw in his mind. His eyes snap open, ashamed.

Merlin’s flushed, eyes burning with want as he watches Arthur’s reactions like he knows exactly what Arthur’s thinking. 

Merlin’s fingers close on Arthur’s wrist, squeezing. “We rutted like animals, Arthur, there on the forest floor.”

Arthur paints his breeches until they’re sodden with his come.

* * *

**36.**

During the first stretch of spring, everybody in Camelot takes ill at once.

Merlin helps Gaius with deliveries, and herb gathering, until the job is foisted on some daughter of a kitchen maid, which Merlin rambles at Arthur while polishing his boots with an undercurrent of resentment or whatever it is he thinks he’s entitled to. But he’s Arthur’s manservant, and Arthur has need of him, and when the girl is needed elsewhere and Gaius takes on a new apprentice, it isn’t Arthur’s fault that Merlin has to give up half his bedroom.

“This is your fault,” Merlin says, dropping Arthur’s lunch tray hard enough that a few grapes bounce up and then roll to the floor. “Do you know what Audric’s done now?”

Arthur spears a piece of ham and gives Merlin an agreeable smile. “I don’t particularly care.”

“He’s moved my bed!”

“Has he.”

“My bed!” Merlin flops into the chair across from Arthur, harassed. “He’s pushed it against the wall and took the best part of the room for himself!”

Earlier in the week, it’d been that he’d done a disproportionate job of dividing up Merlin’s wardrobe. Then, that he’d shoved Merlin’s books to the floor to make room for his own. Then it was that he liked the window open at night. He snored. He rustled in his sleep. He’d stolen one of Merlin’s pillows, and Arthur lets all of this pass into one ear and out the other, from this week and into the next, because Merlin probably deserves the little weasel.

So it’s a surprise, one day, when Merlin is twenty minutes late for the third time in a row and Arthur has to go and fetch him himself, that he finds him, heads pressed close together, with some sturdy blond man, smiling at him, giving a laugh at whatever the man says as Arthur stands there in the doorway, looking between them, drawing his brows into a frown.

***

“Ow! Arthur! Stop it!”

Arthur pulls his blow with an irritated heave of a sigh, moves his shoulders in restless circles. “What is it?” he says.

Merlin wrenches off his helmet, pushes himself to his feet. “Are you attempting to kill me?”

“I’m attempting to train,” Arthur says. “Put the helmet back on and raise your shield.”

Merlin drops the shield to the grass. “Not if you’re trying to take my head off,” he says, and drops the helmet as well. “I don’t know what your problem is, but hell if I’ll stay here and be chopped to bits because of it.”

And as he he starts to pull at the straps of his armor, Arthur feels his hands start to shake. “Don’t touch it,” he says through his teeth. “Pick up the shield, put on the helmet, and face me.”

Merlin doesn’t even spare him a glance. Drops a vambrace.

“Merlin, I’m ordering you.”

Another vambrace falls, and before Arthur has even fully thought it, he’s rushing at Merlin, roughing him down to the ground, pulling at straps himself.

“Fine,” he spits, ripping at the leather. “You can go, and you can - settle yourself right - in the stocks.”

Merlin tries to flail under him. “Arthur!” he shouts. “Stop - what -”

“And maybe,” Arthur goes on, avoiding Merlin’s arms and snapping one old buckle free, “Audric will - bring you a towel before you - head off to the stables. Perhaps the two of you can - muck them out together.”

“ _What are you talking about?_ ” Merlin hisses. “Audric? What does he even -” And with a surprising amount of strength, he manages to flip himself, left side of his face grass-stained, and he looks even angrier than he did before.

Most of Merlin’s armor is done away with, but Arthur doesn’t stop in his manhandling.

“Get off me!” Merlin grunts. He bucks his hips up, violent.

Arthur doesn’t. Just tries getting Merlin’s pauldron over his head. Doesn’t even know why anymore.

“I’m not your thing, Arthur!” Merlin shouts at him. “You can’t just - 

And then Arthur kisses him, hard, and Merlin goes entirely still.

“What...?” he says when Arthur pulls away, but then Arthur dives for his mouth again, because he doesn’t - 

He doesn’t want to talk. And Merlin’s mouth is hot, and then his tongue is hotter, and he buries his hands in his hair.

Even though the hurry of it, the quickness, Arthur hears Merlin swallow, and he grinds his hips down in time with Merlin’s pushing up, and it’s a good thing they’re out here near the trees, under their cover, when they manage to get the rest of Merlin’s armor off, slicking against each other in the sun.

* * *

**37.**

The first time it happens they don’t even like each other very much. Merlin still thinks Arthur is a bit of an ungrateful prat, destiny or no destiny. They both are riding the high from defeating Valiant, Arthur on the field of the tournament and Merlin using magic that could get him killed to save Arthur’s life. 

They get a moment to themselves in the tent afterwards. Merlin trying to find his way around his new role of being Arthur’s servant. 

Merlin still hasn’t gotten used to undressing Arthur. He doesn’t know how to stop his hands from lingering when they should be deft and professional. Arthur doesn’t reprimand him for it though, his body turning into Merlin’s touch. 

Merlin still doesn’t know if he likes Arthur very much. He doesn’t like the person he meet his first day of Camelot, but even he knows he shouldn’t be too quick to judge a person. It’s not like he’s never acted like an arse before. 

He may not like Arthur very much yet but he’s not blind. The Prince of Camelot is attractive and Merlin’s always been a bit free with his affections.

So when his hand curves around Arthur’s hip to reach the tie on his trousers and Arthur gives him a knowing look Merlin doesn’t feel like he’s being too forward when he goes to his knees. Arthur just leans back against the wall as he undoes him, slipping his cock out. There is sheen on sweat on his skin from the tournament and bruises darkening from where he was hit. 

Merlin leans forward to take the head of his cock in his mouth and he tastes him, tongue tracing a vein on the underside.

He’s surprised when Arthur’s hand finds its way to his hair, and instead of pulling gently grips him, helping Merlin set a slow pace. Arthur’s gloves are on the floor and his fingers card through Merlin’s hair like this is something they have time to indulge in, like there aren’t his knights and people waiting for him to emerge to congratulate him.

The pace stays slow as Merlin explores him, his own erection straining against his trousers as he brings Arthur shakes apart in his mouth. He shallows him down and the smile on Arthur’s face is soft as he pulls back and looks up at him.

“Thank you.” there’s no trace of mockery or malice and Merlin returns his smile.

“My pleasure Sire.”

~*~*~*~*~

It’s the first time it happens but not the last. It’s a habit that they fall into that neither talks about. More frequently they start to seek pleasure and comfort in each other. When Mordred espaces, after Gwen’s father is executed, after Nimueh. 

Merlin can’t pinpoint when he started caring about Arthur, when his touches turned from curiosity and attraction to something deeper, actual caring. He spends less and less time in his room at night and more in Arthur’s. When he goes on hunts with him they always sleep close together. 

It’s after the last Dragonlord is killed and Merlin loses a father he never really knew that he realizes he’s not the only one who has changed. He sees the way Arthur watches him with concern, the way he pulls him in closer against him.

He takes comfort in the way Arthur’s arms wrap around him and let’s himself feel.

* * *

**38.**

It had started as a normal day for them, well, as normal as life can be for the crown prince and his manservant. Relaxing hunting trip turned bandit attack - nothing they couldn't handle. Save for the part where Arthur didn't have any of his armour with him and it was two against ten. As Arthur lunged and parried against his foes, Merlin stood a little ways off on a rock, merrily dropping branches and levitating frying pans to smite his enemies. Perhaps smite was a little bit of an exaggeration, as he was at most giving them concussions, but he was having fun with it. No snakes coming out of shields, no Griffins or Questing Beasts charging them down, just a cut and dry sword fight of the non-magical variety. 

Merlin was so relaxed with the apparent ease of the fight that he didn't notice the last bandit lining up his shot several paces away. It wasn't until Arthur bellowed out his name that he turned and watched the bolt fly out of the crossbow, straight at his face. With the blink of an eye, Merlin easily deflected the bolt back at his attacker, but before he could check to make sure the bolt had found its mark he found himself being hauled down from his rock without warning. With his terrible sense of balance and plain dumb luck, his mouth crashed into Arthur's and they tumbled to the ground.

'I'm sorry Sire,' he said, belatedly rolling off of him, 'I didn't mean for that to happen.'

Arthur rolled up onto his knees and began inspecting Merlin, yanking at his clothes. 'You're such an idiot Merlin, how did you not notice the man taking aim at your head?'

Merlin tried to bat his hands away to little success. 'Honestly Arthur, I'm alright, I'm-" His next words died in his throat as he took in Arthur's face, eyes a little wild and cheeks flushed from more than just adrenaline. He let his gaze trail downwards and found Arthur's cock tenting his breeches, his relentless grabbing and pawing at Merlin suddenly making sense.

'Are you-, do you get off on this?' he asked suddenly.

Arthur's hands froze but he didn't look away.

'Do you get off on saving me?' he asked again. 'Because you can you know.'

'Can what?' Arthur's eyes narrowed.

'Get off on me,' Merlin muttered, blushing furiously because the words had sounded better in his head and this wasn't exactly the way he had imagined revealing his feelings for Arthur. He was saved from further mortification when Arthur pounced on him, fisting two hands in his jacket and hauling him up for a kiss. It was messy and hot and everything Merlin had ever hoped it would be when Arthur stopped and pushed him down onto the forest floor and ground down on him.

'Always in trouble all the time Merlin, do you know how frustrating it is?' Arthur was panting above him and Merlin groaned as Arthur ground their erections together. 'Watching you with your big wide eyes, all flushed when we escape. Are you doing it on _purpose_?' Arthur enforced his question with a roll of his hips that made Merlin shudder. He tried to sit up to get another kiss but Arthur held him down.

'No time,' he gasped, his thrusts becoming erratic. 'Must you always wear so many layers? Who needs a neckerchief in the summer?'

Merlin tried to respond but his answer came out in a series of needy moans that made Arthur lick his lips.

'Next time, we'll do this properly in my bed. We'll bar the door and I'll open you up with my tongue for hours until you're begging for me to be inside you,' Arthur grunted, thrusting even harder. 'Just when you think you can't wait any longer I'll oil up and drive into you. We'll have to make sure you're face first in the pillows though, otherwise the whole castle will hear you moaning my name.' Merlin's eyes rolled back in his head and he came with a startled gasp, his breath hitching and nonsense words rolling off his tongue. Arthur gave a few more thrusts before he groaned and stilled over top of him. They stayed like that for a moment before Arthur grabbed him by his shirt front once more and forced him to stand.

'Come on then Merlin, these trousers need washing before we go back to Camelot.'

* * *

**39.**

When princesses of neighbouring kingdoms are of a similar age, they tend to spend a lot of time together – though it takes them years to realise that this is not because their parents recognise how close friends they are but because their parents are sizing up the competition. And so it was that Elena and Vivian grew up together.

They were never overly similar as children, but having bonded over being the only girls of their age and status in the surrounding area, they ended up being a good – though some people would have said bad – influence on each other. Between them they created a kind of balance – clumsy and elegant, passionate and guarded, adventurous and ambitious.

Even as they grew up and saw each other less, they kept in constant touch – writing letters and waiting impatiently for the reply. So when, having returned from Camelot, Vivian stopped writing, Elena worried. When, after two months, she received a letter from Vivian’s mother inviting her to visit, she nearly panicked – Vivian’s father had always liked her (after all, if she spent time with Elena she wasn’t spending time with boys), but her mother had never approved, so the invitation meant something must be wrong.

When Elena gets there and spends the first afternoon walking the grounds with Vivian, she can’t figure out what’s wrong. Vivian is perfectly cordial, but that’s the problem – they’ve never been just cordial. Their conversations are lacking passion, piss-taking, the underlying tension that somehow feels like home. And to top it all off, Vivian won’t stop talking about Arthur.

After three days of the same thing, Elena can’t face it anymore and decides to leave the following day. Following the evening’s banquet, Vivian’s mother takes her aside.

“I’m really sorry” she says, “we don’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s changed completely since she got back from Camelot. We were hoping that having you around would help, because – well. Her maidservant said she overheard Vivian saying your name in her sleep a couple of times. But I guess not.”

Elena thanks her for her hospitality and retires to the guest quarters. Having prepared for bed, she finds that she can’t get to sleep, so gets up and wanders down the corridor. She and Vivian used to sleep over in one another’s rooms – sometimes one another’s beds. She is trying to remove those memories from her head as she hears a noise from the direction of Vivian’s quarters. She moves closer and finds that it is her own name being spoken.

She presses her way inside the room, unable to take her eyes off the body in the bed. Vivian is wearing nothing other than a thin white slip, and is repeating Elena’s name in a slow, quiet voice. Elena moves over to the bed and, before she can stop herself, presses her lips to Vivian’s. The brief kiss is an apology, a goodbye, a declaration of love. But Vivian’s eyes open.

Elena swears under her breath and turns to leave, but Vivian shakes her head as if to clear it and says “Elena” with such wonder, such heart that she can’t bear to take another step.

“Kiss me again.”

Elena does, and devotes the rest of her night to making Vivian say her name again and again, full of fingers and tongue, covered in lips and teeth and scratches, surrounded by love.

(Later, Vivian takes the piss out of Elena for having lips that can break spells. Elena takes the piss out of Vivian for needing it in the first place. Things are back to normal.)

* * *

**40.**

"Uh-oh," Merlin said.

*

He hadn't realized what the spell would do until he'd already cast it – which, honestly, he should know better by now.

Turns out, walking around with a constant hard-on is not only humiliating but also quite painful. Even if he did manage to find another little spell to keep anyone from noticing.

*

"Aaaargh," Merlin said, gripping his hair with one hand. His other moved quickly over his cock, oil slicking his movements. He grunted, eyes fluttering closed as his hips hitched up, heat coiling low in his abdomen.

When he finally came, Merlin relaxed into his tiny bed and groaned.

And then he whimpered, his cock twitching into hardness once again.

*

After five days, Merlin had almost reached the point where he could ignore his aching cock, the way it hung heavy between his legs and brushed against the soft cotton of his pants, sending shivers down his spine.

Almost.

*

"You look like hell," Arthur said on day seven, eyeing him over his dinner plates.

Merlin gave him a wan smile. "Just not sleeping well, Sire."

Which was true. Between his cock and his increasingly desperate attempts to find a counter-spell, Merlin was getting maybe three hours of sleep per night.

"Hm," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes as he picked up his wine goblet.

Merlin stammered out something about polishing Arthur's sword, winced at the wording, and escaped.

*

Arthur continued to give him odd looks, and Merlin continued to ignore them.

His cock continued to ache.

*

"Bloody fucking –" Merlin gasped, hand flying over his cock.

His back arched as he came, painting the stone wall of the alcove he was hiding in. After he caught his breath, Merlin waved his hand at the mess he'd made and it disappeared.

His cock was already hard again, and he sighed, redoing his trousers and adjusting his tunic. He grabbed Arthur's breakfast tray from where it was hovering in midair and ducked from his hiding spot, gait only slightly awkward as he made his way to Arthur's chambers.

*

"You've been acting quite strange lately." Arthur paused. "Stranger than usual, I mean."

"I'm fine," Merlin said, voice flat, and scowled down at the shiny piece of armour he was polishing.

Arthur made an irritated noise and stomped from the room.

*

He shouldn't do this. He _really_ shouldn't do this.

It was wrong.

It was creepy.

It was a violation.

It was –

Merlin swore and crawled onto Arthur's bed, squirming around in the sheets and burying his head under one of the pillows. He pulled his cock out and spit in his hand, stripping it none-too-gently, breathing in the scent of Arthur as he did.

He came all over Arthur's sheets, groaning long and low, and then flushed hotly. A wave of his hand cleaned everything up, and Merlin booked it out of there as fast as he could with a still-hard cock.

*

Two weeks.

Merlin wanted to cry.

*

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Arthur yelled, clearly frustrated as he crowded Merlin back against the wall.

Merlin let out a strangled noise and yelled back, without thinking, "I've got a bloody erection that won't fucking go away, no matter how many times I wank!"

His eyes went wide and he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Arthur stared at him, blinked, and blinked again. And then a wicked, _wicked_ smirk twisted his mouth upwards.

"Is that so?"

Merlin groaned, and buried his face his hands. "Oh god."

And suddenly there were fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists, pulling his hands away. Arthur was a lot closer than he had been a moment ago, and oh, now they were kissing. Merlin groaned again and opened his mouth, allowing Arthur to lick his way inside, and gasped as Arthur ground their hips together.

He wasn't the only one who was hard.

"Fuck," Arthur breathed. "Can I – will you let me –"

"Yes," Merlin said. "Anything."

*

Merlin's face was pressed against Arthur's bed, his ass in the air as Arthur fucked into him relentlessly. He held Merlin's wrists tightly, trapping them against the bed, and snapped his hips in a ruthless rhythm, his cock stretching Merlin wide open.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," Merlin moaned, spreading his knees as wide as they would go and canting his hips back to take Arthur deeper.

Merlin came – for the third time – and Arthur's hips stuttered as he pressed in, filling Merlin with his own hot come.

Best spell _ever_.

* * *

**41.**

“Lady Mithian.” One of the two guards remaining in the castle stood at attention in the doorway. “The riders from Camelot approach.”

“Thank you.” Mithian rose from her father’s throne. “Is everything prepared for dinner?”

The steward, thankfully one of the few men too grizzled for either battle or harvest, stepped forward and bowed. “My lady, King Uther and his people shall notice nothing amiss—save the absence of your good father, of course.”

Mithian looked around at the courtiers left to her after her father had ridden out to claim Gedref out from under Camelot’s nose. She doubted there was any way Uther wouldn’t notice something amiss. It would be her job to distract him enough that he didn’t figure out what it was.

***

“So few of them,” Mithian murmured as the party from Camelot cantered into the courtyard. They were a small band of senior knights clustered around a central rider who must be—

Yes, from the iron circling his brow, that must be Uther Pendragon. He dismounted and moved toward her. When their eyes met, her breath caught in her throat, for Uther Pendragon was nothing she had expected.

Her father was still an active, vital man, but Uther was virile in body and presence in a way Rodor had long lost. He strode toward the castle as though taking possession of it, and Mithian descended to meet him. 

“My lord Uther,” she said when he stood before her. She remained a few steps above him, trying to retain her presence of mind. “It gives me great pleasure to welcome you to Nemeth.”

He accepted her outstretched hand and raised it to his lips. She felt the touch of them up into her wrist, an inconvenient shock of womanhood. “Lady Mithian. The pleasure is all mine.”

***

“I apologize for the lack of proper company,” she said over dinner. “Every able-bodied soul was needed for the harvest after my father took so many men to deal with the incursion at the northern border.”

“My son also sends his regrets. I fear he is also dealing with an incursion on our border.” She had forgotten the younger Pendragon and the talk of betrothals. She forgot him again when Uther took a sip of wine and smiled. “But at the same time, I’m afraid I cannot regret the present company at all.”

***

He put his gloved hand over hers to guide the knife through the deer’s hide. She allowed it, though she had been skinning her own kills since childhood. She allowed it because a pleasant tremor went through her arm at his touch; he smiled when he felt it.

“Pardon my boldness, my lady,” he said. “It’s easy to forget you are not accustomed to the touch of men.”

Mithian raised her eyes to his and let her lips curl with sweetness. “No pardon necessary, my lord. I have always been a quick study.”

He roared with laughter and pressed her fingers harder. “You have a rare spirit, my dear. I must make sure that the right Pendragon takes you to wife.”

***

She laughed as they strolled down the dark corridor. "My lord, I'm afraid to bore you with a third day of hunting."

"You'll find I'm a most avid hunter." Uther's eyes crinkled as he stopped before his chamber door. "And it seems I must hunt for my manservant."

"Leave him to his rest." She spoke without needing to think; her mind had already agreed to the decision her body had made when first they met. "I can serve you tonight."

He met her eyes for a long moment, and then nodded.

***

Her hands may have trembled, but they were sure against his body as she helped him shed his coat and tabard. In turn, his hands were sure as they slipped under her dress. 

He paused at the point of her maidenhead and bent to kiss her as he pushed through it. She cried out into his mouth, then tightened her legs around him. He maddened her: the bulk of him over her, inside her, and soon under her as she worked herself toward the relief of her tension. She found it at last with her fingers over the spot where his prick speared her.

Dizzy with the pulses of release, she stretched out over his chest. "Take your pleasure of me, my lord," she murmured. "I am spent."

With a groan, he put her on her back and drove into her until warmth spread into her belly. She felt his absence when he withdrew and kissed her.

"Rodor may well take Gedref if Arthur doesn't claim it first." His fingers stroked her stomach. "But I have stolen his greatest treasure."

She startled, then laughed. "And I have made my first conquest."

* * *

**42.**

Each year, it gets harder.

They say time heals all wounds. But his absence isn't a wound; it isn't so neat, so easily sutured.

It's more like an ache. Like the ache you get every month, every month as the moon wanes. Only, in this the waning has to do with Merlin, and Leon, and the nights you nearly collapse into bed after standing strong for a seemingly endless parade of ragged, weary, life-torn people, all of whom you want to help, and very few of whom you actually can.

He used to rub your shoulders, on these days. Your feet, sometimes.

The bed feels huge without him, and always will, but this night, the year count, is always worse. You roll over to his side, clutching at the pillow that has long since lost his scent, and close your eyes on the tears that threaten.

Sleep comes slowly, but thoroughly.

\---

His shape, his beloved shape, fits just right against your back just as it always did, warm and whole and perfect. The tears spill out, now, but his hands are there to brush them off your face, his lips following after with kisses and murmured words. "I'm here, love. I'm here."

You feel the smile tug on your lips, the dichotomy of the emotions coursing through you awakening your very cells in a way that only he can. His hands slide up your belly—which is different, now, not with child but still with time, the inevitability of time—and to your breasts, a fond caress that douses your fears and spurs you to turn, tuck one leg over his strong thigh and kiss him. He tastes of all the things you remember—heat and sweat and wine and mint and _Arthur_.

Beloved.

His hands are under your shift, now, where they belong, rough-skinned but gentle, so gentle with touches, until he's catalogued your whole body again, and again, each caress a lit flame in your belly, a rolling, roiling heat along your skin. His mouth finds your breast and your fingers weave through his hair, keeping him there until you can't stand it, until you feel like he has to stop or you'll just explode, into little pieces of sparkling dark ash against the cream-coloured sheets.

So you pull him up, search out his lips with yours, and roll him onto you, the weight heavy and welcome. So welcome.

When he slips inside you, curls into you until you're as connected as two people can be, it's almost an afterthought. The last click of the tumblers as you lock together.

Always.

\---

You wake up the next morning clutching at cold, sweat-soaked sheets. Alone, always alone, and you wish so hard, as you did when you were a child, that you could just stay in bed all morning. Like you used to do with him, on lazy winter days when he would bar the door and send the servants away and let you warm your hands on his skin, until you both were warm enough for days.

But never mind. The anniversary is over. The past is done. The last queen of Camelot must not falter.

And will not.

* * *

**43.**

It was the coldness in her eyes that told him that he was dead if he refused her. She never took no for an answer before—the lady was stubborn and willful to a fault—not that he didn’t like that in a woman. The bindings around his wrists were removed as he was left in the middle of her bed chambers, the willful mistress of the darkened keep was twirling a dark curl around her twisted, little finger.

Her smile became sickly sweet when she saw that his chains were removed. She slowly traipses her way from the bed she is reclining towards his half-naked body, muscles flexing and twitching beneath his control, he saw the pure white cleavage peaking through her nightgown. Another involuntary jerk at the sensation, he swallowed hard. Gwaine’s mouth had gone dry. This is not what he had in mind when he said he would do anything to help Gaius get better, he thought.

Morgana’s lips are on his ear—her teeth teased at the edge—she spewed her vile tongue at him, “I knew I could find a use for this big strong knight that Arthur boasts about so much.” Her hand cupped around the outside of Gwaine’s breeches and stroked forcefully as he felt his body go rigid, she smiled, “Now don’t tell me Sir Playboy is shy.”

His own voice betrayed his thoughts as he replied huskily, “I wouldn’t know how to treat a woman of your caliber, my Lady,” to which he pulled Morgana toward him and whispered, “you’re not much of a lady now, are you?”

A fire appeared behind her eyes, it was enough to arrest Gwaine temporarily, but his accusation didn’t stop there. He seized hold of Morgana by the arms, pulled her towards him again as he mashed their lips together—first hitting teeth and biting—his mouth found her lips and bit down on them. Morgana moaned in the back of her throat as Gwaine dipped her neck back violently and kissed along her jaw and neckline. His hands find the lady’s waist, pulled on the end of her nightgown—he must have her now.

She pulled him over to the bed she had vacated not long before as he pulled off his breeches, leaving him exposed and her barely holding onto her nightgown. His anger at this tempestuous woman pulling the sheet of fabric covering her off and throwing it aside, she smiled at him in her condescending away, “We are going to have to make you pay for that later.” She holds her hands innocently over her breasts.

There was a moment when he almost felt like his usual self, the grin on his face as a woman laid underneath him, looked at him in the way that Morgana found him at that moment. He leaned into her and kissed her hard on the mouth one last time as he pushed himself inside her, her slickness creating a warm landing pad, and he felt the release as she arched her back towards him.

This may not have been worth it in the end, but it was good all the same.

* * *

**44.**

Leon had left for his first patrol six months ago. Gwen waited for his arrival in his chambers trying to convince herself it was merely to check on him. 

Her childhood crush was completely inappropriate and Leon was a great man. 

Still, a small part of her thought about the few times she had spied nobility and peasants alike taking their pleasures of the flesh after a rowdy feast. She imagined what it would be like to have Leon thrusting against her and wondered if it would feel the same as when she pleasured herself in her cot. 

The sound of the door swinging open had Gwen jumping and blushing guiltily.

Leon strode into the room before pausing at the sight of Gwen. 

For a moment they stared. 

“You have a beard,” Gwen said without thinking. 

It was not long or unruly, but sinfully attractive, unlike any beard Gwen had ever seen. Leon just laughed, used to how awkward Gwen always was. 

“You should not be here,” he reminded her. “Where is James?”

“He might not have received the message of your return,” Gwen said, doing her best to look innocent and biting her lips to keep from giggling. 

“Did he now?” Leon said smiling softly and it looked different with the beard. 

Unable to stop herself she raised one hand and tested the feel of the beard against her hand. It was rough and prickled slightly, but it sent jolts of arousal through her. Never in her life had she known lust like this. 

“Gwen,” Leon said softly and Gwen remembered where she was. “I have been called to Camelot.”

For a moment Gwen forgot how to breath. She had known that one day Leon would serve the King in Camelot just as his father had done before him. But that far away day had always been so distant. 

“When?” Gwen gasped, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. 

“In three days I must ride for Camelot.”

It was not enough time. Gwen grabbed Leon and ignored the lines they had never crossed. If this was the last time, she refused to let their roles define them. She pressed their lips together and she did not know what to do. So she kept them pressed until Leon moved and kissed her deep. 

Landing on the bed with a small bounce, Gwen quickly rolled them so she could be on top. Her dress got tangled around their legs, causing Gwen to stammer an apology as she tried to fix them. 

“Gwen,” Leon said softly. “It’s okay.”

“Right,” Gwen smiled and kissed his softly. “Just let me.”

She lowered his trousers to release his cock from their folds. It was much larger and thicker and looking nothing like how Gwen imagined. 

She curled her fingers around it and gave a tentative tug, causing Leon to groan. 

She wondered what it would taste like, but she did not dare. Instead she tightened her grip and with her other hand she snuck in under her skirt and played between the wet folds. Finding that small bud of pleasure she rubbed it faster and faster to a frenzy pace that had both of them groaning. 

Too focused on her pleasure she barely noticed Leon lowering her dress so that he was able to nuzzle her breasts. Feeling his beard rough against her pebbled nipples was enough to make Gwen come with a strangled yelp. 

As her body collapsed, shaking onto Leon, she completely forgot to keep rubbing his cock. Leon’s hand was the only thing that kept her hand moving up and down and bringing him to completion. Gwen watched in fascination as he tried to calm his breathing and wondered if there was anyone as beautiful. 

“I will miss you,” Gwen whispered her confession. 

“Not necessarily,” Leon said, smiling mischievously. “I heard the King’s ward is looking for a maid.”

* * *

**45.**

Elena can curtsy deeply without tipping over. Elena can dance, and walk down stairs, and stand straight, and eat without dropping her food, and her hair is smooth and golden and—and she couldn’t do any of it before.

It’s like she’s been wrapped in cotton wool her whole life and is only now freed, and everything is loud and bewildering and strange.

Riding feels the same. She does it more than she used to.

*

She visits Mithian, because the long ride feels good and the halls of Gawant feel empty and strange without Grunhilda, and they go riding together. Mithian waits until they’re well away from Nemeth’s echoing halls to speak. “Camelot—”

Elena shakes her head. “I don’t wish to speak of Camelot.”

Mithian frowns. Her horse slows. “Arthur of Camelot must have offended you greatly.”

Elena forces a laugh. “He didn’t, I promise. Not really. He’s … kind. Not what I expected.”

There’s a notch between Mithian’s brows, something terribly sad in her expression. “You’ve changed, though. Is it him? It must be.”

“No. It’s …” It’s her skin fitting wrong. It’s sudden, terrifying grace. It isn’t love. “I’ve just grown up, is all.”

*

Mithian visits her in turn, mouth tight and hands clutched around her reins, and talks politely and with no emotion until Elena draws her away to her chambers, excusing herself to her father with the need for gossip. When Mithian cries, her shoulders shake and she holds on to Elena like she fears she might drown. “Did you love him?” Elena asks.

“No, but I wanted to. It would have been so easy.” She stops crying, but she keeps holding on.

They spend the rest of Mithian’s visit pretending they aren’t princesses. They wander barefoot in the woods, Elena’s skirt hiked up around her knees and Mithian’s sleeves in ribbons from trying to pick roses. Elena makes her a crown of daisies and Mithian kisses her, hesitant and sweet. It feels strange and almost-too-much, but Elena kisses back, tipping Mithian on her back in her enthusiasm until they’re both laughing, content to rest and look at the clouds through the trees.

“It would be a great deal easier to love you,” says Mithian before she leaves, and Elena carries the memory of the press of fingers against her cheek for weeks.

They can’t make each other any promises, but they knew that already.

*

When Elena hears of Mithian’s hurt at Lady Morgana's hands she rides for Nemeth without thought. Mithian greets her by throwing her arms around her neck, and Elena holds on as tight as she can and lets them both breathe. It’s Mithian’s father who interrupts them, with something a little too shaky to be a laugh. When he speaks, it’s the closest thing to a blessing Elena could hope for. “Mithian, my dear, show her to the guest chambers.”

Mithian doesn’t. They go to her own chambers instead, and Elena tumbles her onto her bed, kissing her hard and trying to think of anything but how close she came to losing her. Mithian kisses back with equal force, hands straying over her body. Elena catches one in hers, notes the shiny, raw-looking skin at the wrist, and kisses it, frantic and wishing a simple kiss could make it better.

Maybe it does, though, because Mithian grows more pliant and less desperate from there, wrapping her arms firmly around Elena and sliding a leg up in between hers for Elena to ride. It’s a sudden shock, to be doing more than kissing, but Elena loves the sharpness of the pleasure, the way Mithian’s head falls back when Elena puts her mouth to her breast. They tangle themselves together so tightly that nothing could get between them, Elena impatiently pushing Mithian’s skirts out of her way to slip her hand between her legs, making her gasp and shiver. It’s easy to learn this, the rhythm of her body and Mithian’s together, better than anything she could imagine.

When Mithian comes apart beneath her, hands clutching in her hair, it’s enough to tip Elena over the edge as well. After, curled into a Mithian who looks herself again, cheeks flushed with color, Elena feels at home in her skin for perhaps the first time in her life.

* * *

**46.**

The small splashes of water punctuate the silence. 

In the cool evening, everything feels so much less real, like they’re ensconced in a bubble where no one can disturb them. 

Merlin draws his sleeves up to his elbows, uses the wooden bathwater scoop to douse Arthur’s head—the head that tomorrow will wear the crown, and the burden of the kingdom with it.

He massages Arthur’s scalp tenderly, his fingers dispersing the soap suds through dark honey-blonde hair, wiping away the sweat and grime of the day.

It’s a duty he cherishes no matter how much he grumbles about it—a time when it is only the two of them— _private time_.

It is something that he can give Arthur; the worship of his hands on Arthur’s body, cleansing and soothing him, taking away all the frustrations of a hard day before they bed down together for the night.

“You’re quiet,” Arthur says.

“Are you complaining?” Merlin says, his voice deliberately light.

Arthur shakes his head slightly, creating ripples in the bathwater. Merlin brings the washcloth to wipe at Arthur’s face, gentle. Up close, his lashes catch the candlelight, glinting like gold. His throat is bared and pink from the bath. It causes a warmth to curl in Merlin’s gut. 

Merlin gulps in a shuddery breath.

Tomorrow, Arthur will be _King_.

“Tomorrow—” Merlin says.

Arthur opens his eyes. Grasps Merlin’s wrist, quick as a flash.

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t talk.”

Arthur stands, sloshing water, and Merlin is quick to dry him.

Merlin slips the shirt on Arthur, patting down the material, and his fingers still on Arthur’s collarbone, lingering. He looks up slowly.

Arthur’s eyes meet his, a well of emotion in them. He moves forward to kiss Merlin in a chaste meeting of lips that’s soft and wet. But then Arthur’s mouth opens under Merlin’s, sucking on Merlin’s bottom lip and he’s lost. His hands grip tight on Arthur’s back as they kiss, exchanging breath and spit. 

Merlin begins to rub against Arthur’s thigh, his cock already a stiff tent in his breeches. They walk backwards to the bed, and Merlin unlaces them, his fingers suddenly clumsy.

They’ve done this so many times—in Arthur’s room, on a grassy plain, in tents during long visits away from Camelot—but there’s a heaviness present tonight, like one misstep will jar the fragile balance they’ve held for the past year.

The scent of the salve is sharp in the air, hitting Merlin’s nostrils as he uses it to slick them. Then it’s a slippery slide, warm and so good.

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, reaching down to shift his fringe out of his eyes. He is beautiful like this, flushed and warm beneath him, his eyes dark with a narrow rim of blue.

Arthur reaches between them and starts to fist their cocks at a slow, languid pace.

“I want this to last,” he finally says. 

Merlin grips Arthur, his thumb on the head, already glistening with precome, and rubs, eliciting a soft moan from him.

“Arthur, you’ll—” Merlin says.

“I won’t marry,” Arthur says, fierce, even as they rut against each other. “I don’t want a queen.”

“They’ll talk.”

“ _Let them_.”

And in that moment, Merlin sees the king he will be: King of Camelot—High King of Albion. A new age, arrived. Destiny’s wheels turning, and things slotting into place as they should. 

Merlin gasps, spurting come between them. Without his notice, his free hand has clasped Arthur’s, their fingers entwined. Arthur comes without a sound, his face contorted with pleasure.

Somewhere far away, a dragon’s wings beat in the air.


	7. Group C (no warnings)

**47.**

Merlin can accredit the progression of this particular aspect of their relationship to five pivotal events. Although these instances may, at first, appear mundane and inconsequential to the casual observer, he’ll assure anyone that these memories are invariably the ones that remain most prominent, and the ones that mark the beginning of Merlin and Arthur.

***

The first incident was inevitable. It’s Merlin’s first week of employment as the manservant to the Prince of Camelot, and Arthur asks for a bath to be drawn. They can’t even claim friendship yet; in fact, Merlin hates Arthur, and it’s likely Arthur reciprocates. He considers magicking the bathwater cold, but decides against it. He doesn’t especially like the stocks.

Just as he sets the sloshing brass tub onto the floor at the centre of the Prince’s chambers, Arthur says, “Could you take a little longer next time?” and steps out from behind the screen. He’s naked.

Merlin stares, because although he should have anticipated this, he’s been caught entirely by surprise. Everything about Arthur is sharp and toned and undeniably masculine, and he wishes he didn’t feel slightly weak-kneed, but he does.

Arthur is giving him a look and he jolts back to reality. “Will that be everything, sire?”

“I should think so.”

Merlin bolts.

***

“You know what, Merlin?” says Arthur during the second incident. Several years have passed. “You… You are a _terrible_ manservant.”

Arthur has had too much to drink. He smells like the wine he spilt over his front. That’s going to be a fun stain to scrub out later, Merlin thinks. Thanks, Arthur.

“Merlin… Listen, _listen_ …” Arthur says, speaking in a whisper despite the fact that they’re locked in Arthur’s chambers, alone. He grabs Merlin’s shoulder and draws him in confidingly, the scent of alcohol intensifying. “You’re bad, just not… _too_ bad. Your ears are funny, but you’re…” he yawned, “…tolerable.”

Then Arthur collapses onto his bed, fully clothed, and appears to drift off instantaneously, a peek of skin exposed above his waist where his tunic has shifted. Even though he sees much more of Arthur’s bare skin every day, the sight triggers something inside him he hasn’t felt in a long time. Suddenly he wants to push the tunic up further, to feel the skin, to taste it, to smell it.

He doesn’t, of course. That would be improper.

***

“What do you think has gotten into him lately?” he asks Gwaine during the third incident, watching as Arthur, now King, lashes out fiercely at some poor new initiate. Arthur seems sharp and irritable all week.

“Oh, nothing,” Gwaine replies before smirking roguishly. “A better question might be what he’s gotten into, but the answer’s still the same.”

“What does _that_ mean?” 

“It means,” says Gwaine finally, “that he’s only blowing his top because no one’s been blowing it for him.

Merlin catches on and glances at Arthur who, as if he feels his gaze, turns to look back at him from across the training yard before he can look away. Their eyes lock, then linger, and Merlin is struck by the intensity of his stare. But before he can ponder its meaning, Arthur breaks eye contact. Merlin turns away.

***

(Merlin doesn’t talk about the fourth incident. If he did, Arthur might think he’d been spying, even though he hadn’t been. He suspects Arthur knows he saw, though.)

***

The fifth incident is, by far, the most important development of their relationship to date. Merlin is fixing Arthur’s collar, helping him dress. They’ll ride out on a quest tomorrow. This isn’t unusual; they’re used to it by now. All the same, a tense edge of anxiety cuts between them, stilling Merlin’s fingers until Arthur touches them with his own.

“Alright?”

“Yes…”

He’s not sure when or how it happened, but they’re close, so close, and Merlin only has to look up from Arthur’s tunic before they’re touching, first with foreheads, then with lips. The clothing he dressed Arthur in moments before is cast off carelessly, followed by Merlin’s. The backs of his knees find Arthur’s bed, and they stumble into it, limbs and thoughts tangled together in a way that makes them forget everything else. It’s fast and clumsy, but when Arthur pushes inside him, he’s in no state to care. They move, they taste, they touch, and eventually they reach their climax, together. It feels like fire.

***

The only difference between friendship and falling in love, Merlin thinks, is intimacy, and yet even this line is blurred between close friends. Crossing it is a small step.

* * *

**48.**

Arthur all but dragged Merlin up the stairs and to his rooms. Once inside he slams the heavy door roughly and bolts it, he’d never wanted to get his armour off so badly in his life- correction, he’d never wanted _Merlin_ to get his armour off him so badly in his life. “You,” he growled, voice hot with need. “You,” he repeated, but didn’t seem able to proceed further.

Merlin isn’t much better. After a few failed attempts at processing what Arthur is saying, he crushes their mouths together in a wet, messy kiss; making up in enthusiasm what it lacks in finesse.

Their hands scrabble at buckles and straps trying to remember what order his armour needs to be removed in. The coutere and vambrance slip off easily enough, but somehow Arthur has loosened his gorget before undoing the buckles on his pauldron. 

“Arthur,” Merlin pants, “Arthur, stop, stop. Let me, it’s what I’m supposed to be doing, isn’t it?” he asks breathily, fingers nimbly working the closures.

Arthur nods, barely able to catch his breath let alone form a smart retort regarding Merlin’s skills as a servant. He only knows one thing- he _wants_. He wants Merlin, wants him now, wants to touch and feel and… 

He forces his hands away from his armour and concentrates on removing Merlin’s clothes as best he can with his armour hanging awkwardly from his arm, attacking first the neckerchief that hides the long length of Merlin’s pale neck. Victorious, Arthur’s mouth latches onto the exposed flesh biting, sucking, marking this new territory as his. He’s only distantly aware of his gorget falling to the floor followed by his pauldron, and then his right arm is free to wrap around Merlin’s slim waist and pull him closer as his lips trail hungrily up along his neck and jaw, finally settling over his waiting mouth.

Merlin’s hand ghosts over the metal links of Arthur’s chainmail, holding on as Arthur kisses him hard, demanding, and passionate, full of emotions he couldn’t even begin to name. As their tongues battle and dance he feels a warm calloused hand work its way under his tunic sliding teasingly over his skin finally settling just above his hip.

Arthur pulls back, eyes hungry and lust blown as he pulls Merlin’s tunic over his head and lunges at a dusky nipple.  
A sound somewhere between a squeak and a groan falls from Merlin’s lips; Arthur smiles around the nub he holds in his teeth and flicks his tongue over the tip earning him a whimper.

Arthur’s mail pushes into his skin as they grapple closer, Merlin’s fingers pulling at the hauberk for purchase. 

Gently, Arthur pushes them towards the bed, pressing Merlin down against the fine cloth, trapping his body between the soft expanse of bed and the firm bite of chainmail. 

A breathy moan comes from deep in Merlin’s throat as he relishes in the familiar feel of soft velvet like the finest silk rubbing against his back, and the links of chain as they roll and flow, a metallic waterfall cascading along his bare chest- he knows how much it weighs, how heavily it lays on Arthur’s broad shoulders, and the sheer bulk of it, but that doesn’t take away the delicacy he feels as the chain tinkles and moves against him.

Then Arthur’s pulling away again, despite Merlin’s efforts to hold him in place. Arthur gently wrests Merlin’s hands from his hauberk, his earlier frenzy calming now that he has Merlin’s skin under his hands and his body beneath him. Smirking, he brings Merlin’s palms to his lips and kisses them before letting them go to tug the rugged chain off and let it fall to the side, the metal whoosh echoing in Merlin’s ears as it lands beside him on the bed. The gambeson is more cumbersome, its padding designed to protect, not for easy removal, but somehow they get it off, Arthur’s own tunic following close behind. Then Arthur’s back on him, chest to chest, their light dustings of hair tickling as they almost touch. Arthur nuzzles at Merlin’s neck, nipping the tight tendon only to sooth the bite with tender kisses, letting his bottom lip drag moist and warm over the accosted flesh. He licks a swath up the length of Merlin’s neck, kissing along his jaw until he reaches that wet mouth where Merlin accepts him welcomingly, and he can’t help but wonder if Merlin’s body will open up as welcomingly when the time comes.

* * *

**49.**

Morgana woke up gasping and squeezing the sweaty sheets. 

It took her a moment to realise that this time it hadn’t been a nightmare that woke her up. Blood wasn’t rushing in her ears like it usually did when dreams woke her up in the middle of a night, but instead pumping _between her legs_. It was like she could feel her own heartbeats under the hem of her nightshirt. There was something slick on her thighs and the clothing covering her too, and even though it should’ve felt uncomfortable, the feeling made her squirmy in the best possible way.

It really wasn’t done, this thing she was considering. Morgana had been told as many stories about marital bed and the wife’s duties as any other woman, but this, this had never been spoken about when she had been within a hearing distance. The old wives spoke about the pain of the first time they had lain with their husbands and about childbirth, but any enjoyment they might’ve had from it was always discussed only in hushed tones or among the young and dishonourable.

Morgana pushed the blankets aside, lifted the nightshirt with one hand and spread her legs. The cool night air hit the skin and made her shiver. Softly she touched the slickness she found under her nightshirt. Her hips made a small involuntary movement at the touch.

Gathering her courage, Morgana slid her fingertips on the velvety skin and gasped again. Her heartbeat quickened and so did the insistent pulsing under her fingers.

Her nightshirt was hiked up on her stomach now, but she reached to touch the skin under it. When her fingers moved on her thighs and stomach she felt a flush spreading all over her body. Her breasts and nipples were more sensitive than they usually did; brushing a thumb across a nipple and cupping a breast made her breathing abrupt.

And she really shouldn’t have done it. A woman’s honour and purity in things like this meant everything, was essential, and if Morgana ever chose to get married, her future husband had every right to throw her out if she was not untouched before her wedding night. But she _needed_ to know.

She pushed two fingers inside.

When she did that her palm brushed a spot that made her back arch. She had to bite her lip hard to not make a sound that would alert someone. She pushed the fingers deeper and brought her other hand between her legs too. She rubbed the little point of pleasure while pushing and pulling the fingers of her other hand in and out of her.

Morgana thought of someone else doing this to her. What would a pair of warm and moist lips feel on the nub? A tongue pushing inside her? Someone else’s fingers playing her like some kind of instrument and pulling the gasps of pleasure out of her?

Images of other people filled Morgana’s mind, and they were wrong and filthy and some were almost criminal, but now Morgana had started this she couldn’t stop. It was pleasure like she had never before felt, and she was hovering on the edge of _something_. The only thing she could do was to move her hands faster. A bit of more pressure, a bit deeper, just a small movement to the left...

Morgana screamed.

When she was still coming down from her peak, she heard steps hurrying towards her door and had just enough time to pull the blanket on top of her shaking thighs.

“My lady? Did you have another nightmare?” Gwen asked, giving Morgana a cup of water from the table. Morgana accepted the water and nodded.

“Do you think you could take some medicine and try sleeping some more, or do you want me to keep you company?”

“No, Gwen. You go to sleep,” Morgana said voice shaky. “I will be alright in a moment.”

And she would be alright after Gwen left, and she could properly test the story about women being able to reach the peak of their pleasure more than once in a short period of time.

Oh, Morgana would be more than fine.

* * *

**50.**

Sir Edward from one of the outlying villages near the western border is visiting for a time with his daughter, the Lady Catherine. Since she is well-breed, well-behaved, and generally considered to be an attractive marriage prospect, Uther insists that Arthur entertain the lady while he and Sir Edward discuss the upcoming harvest.

However, Uther fails to mention that Lady Catherine is also considered to be (boring the most insipid girl in her entire village. So here Arthur sits, on what would otherwise be a delightful picnic date on the river bank, dreadfully bored. Merlin is acting as chaperone, sitting a few feet away under a tree, and Arthur can see him rolling his eyes at every story Lady Catherine tells.

After a while, Arthur sees him fidget and stand as if he could leave without Arthur noticing. “Merlin,” he calls. “Where are you going?”

Merlin glances away, shifty as usual. “I was going to find more berries,” he says before walking away with very fast, awkward steps.

It’s quite possibly the worst lie he has ever told.

*

Merlin has gone a few paces into the woods before Arthur catches up to him, startling him.“What do you think you’re doing, leaving me with that dolt?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he says, turning around. “Besides, you deserve some time alone with her.” It’s clear by the gleam in Merlin’s eye he means Arthur deserves this torture, possibly as payback for making him the target during practice the other day.

“Well, go on then.” Arthur gestures toward him.

“Arthur, I’m not going to take a piss with you watching.”

“No need to be embarrassed, Merlin. I’ve seen your prick before. I’m sure once you grow up a bit....”

Merlin glares at him. “And just when have you seen my prick?”

“You’re not the only one to sneak a look while we’re all bathing in the river on hunting trips,” Arthur says with a smirk.

Merlin blushes high on his cheeks. “Just stay over there.”

He turns away and unties his breeches, taking his prick out. Suddenly Arthur’s there, Merlin can feel the heat of him on his back. “What are you doing, Arthur?”

“When I was young, one of the knights told me stories about the different ways two men can share pleasure.” Arthur runs his palm down Merlin’s right side. “Does that sound like something you would enjoy, Merlin?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Merlin whines.

“I thought so.” Arthur is smug with the knowledge. He comes even closer, chest pressing against Merlin’s back. His right hand now rests on the skin below Merlin’s belly, his left holds tight to Merlin’s hip.

Merlin’s breath catches and he clenches the fabric of his pants in his fists as his prick starts to take interest in the proceedings.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you Merlin?” Arthur says, kissing the back of Merlin’s neck. He takes Merlin in hand, gripping him firmly. Merlin whines and clutches at Arthur’s thigh. He’s fully hard now and it’s painful to have two strong urges warring inside him – the need to thrust into Arthur’s hand and the need to relieve his bladder.

In the end Arthur whispering filth into his ear while he rubs himself against Merlin’s backside pushes him over the edge and he comes, dribbling over Arthur’s hand and into his open pants. He’s shaking with how good it feels. Arthur makes a disgusted face and wipes his hand on Merlin’s thigh, still holding him against his chest.

After a few moments, Merlin recovers himself, stands a little steadier on his feet as he lets go and wets the grass below.

*

“Arthur, you should return to Lady Catherine.” Merlin says, tucking himself away.

“Yes, I suppose it _would_ be rude to abandon her here.”

They share a look before awkwardly making their way back to the river and an oblivious Lady Catherine.

* * *

**51.**

Merlin enters Camelot's gate full of wonder, staring about like a child. That lasts until he arrives at the keep and discovers a man about to be executed.

"What's he done?" Merlin asks the woman beside him in the crowd.

"Used magic to help one of the horses foal safely," she replies.

When the executioner drops the axe, it bounces.

In the ensuing uproar, as the archers notch arrows that turn to ash in their hands and several knights trip over air, the prisoner rolls slowly to his feet, wide-eyed, and falls gracelessly off the platform. Picking himself up, he stumbles to the arms of a wailing old woman, and the crowd parts confusedly to let them pass.

Merlin's tired now, but he has somewhere to be.

The lower town no longer seems glamorous. He finds the house easily - it's the one that looks like someone smashed it up last night. Door hanging from one hinge, pottery shards spread out into the street. Merlin's lips thin.

The young man and his mother are in the house, salvaging whatever they can and putting it in sacks for the road. Merlin has to cough twice to get their attention.

"Who are you?" the old woman asks suspiciously.

Merlin shrugs. "A friend?"

~ * ~ 

Sneaking them out the gate after dark turns out to be quite simple, despite the guards everywhere. Merlin stands on the road and waves until they're out of sight, heading east. Then he turns around-

-and almost smacks into a lady in a blue dress.

"Oh, hullo!" He straightens and tries to pretend he wasn't just conspiring with a condemned sorcerer.

The lady arches one perfect eyebrow. "You'll do, but we must work on your expressions."

And that's how Merlin became a servant to the Lady Morgana.

~ * ~

"Don't use magic in front of Uther, unless it's very subtle," Morgana instructs.

Merlin nods.

"But it's fine in front of Arthur. Really, he won't notice unless you dance three feet in the air juggling fireballs."

Merlin nods.

"Maybe not even then."

Merlin nods.

Morgana sighs. "I'm trying to tell you to go ahead and save people, if you can. When you can."

"Oh."

"And don't tell me where you send them."

~ * ~

Hunith has just blown out the candle when there's scrape at the door, the sound of someone who can't decide whether to knock or not. Relighting the candle from the banked fire, she opens the peephole.

A stranger, bald - a blacksmith by his arms. He's shaking like a leaf.

She sighs and unlocks the door, mentally considering how long it would take to warm some of last night's stew.

~ * ~

Will's working the fields, finally healed from that stupid arrow to the shoulder, when he catches movement on the road. A girl, dark-haired and wearing a tattered red dress, stumbles along barefoot.

She's the loveliest woman he's ever seen.

~ * ~

"I'm cursed," Freya tells him, and he replies, "You'll want Old Mary for that, or the druid boy."

"There's a price on my head."

"If this village wanted gold, we'd have turned in Tom."

"I'm still in love with Merlin."

His smile is bittersweet. "Aren't we all?"

Her kiss tastes salty, like tears.

~ * ~

Balinor lies back in his bed. (His own bed! It still amazes him.) His trousers lie on the chair beside, and he's stroking himself distractedly. Hunith is pulling off her dress slowly, teasing him as one by one the buttons push through their holes and leave another fingers-breath of skin bare to the candlelight. His breath comes rougher, his cock beginning to strain in his hand.

Finally the dress pools at her feet, and she climbs onto the bed, eyes sparkling as she straddles him. She teases again, running her hands through the hair on his chest, brushing her backside lightly against his cockhead, which is straining out of its foreskin.

"Please," he growls, and she lifts up-

-Someone knocks.

Hunith closes her eyes, resigned, and crawls away to re-dress while Balinor twitches the blanket over his lap and tries not to wish ill on his son.

The blond boy at the door is wide-eyed and desperate-looking. Just Merlin's type.

"G-Gilli. I- I was told I could-"

And Hunith, finally, has had enough.

"Next door," she says, pointing. "Lancelot and Gwaine's house. Tell them Hunith sent you, and I'm collecting on their debt."

The boy nods, and Hunith shuts the door before he's gone more than two steps. Turning back to the room, she smiles at her husband. 

"Now, where were we?"

* * *

**52.**

Merlin grumbled to himself as he walked down the deserted halls of the castle. He had spent the evening polishing Arthur's weapons - twice. Because the royal prat could still see fingerprints, visible to only his eyes apparently. 

He walked past Morgana's rooms when he heard her shout his name, sounding desperate. He rushed in, finding her behind her bed curtains, still asleep, struggling with her dreams again.

"Morgana," Merlin touched her shoulder, "wake up."

She mumbled something, hard for Merlin to hear. He leaned over her. "I won't let you die alone. I will stay and watch over you." The words themselves should sound caring, but there's hate in her voice. It makes Merlin's chest tighten, like a warning. 

He shook her harder. Her eyes opened, looking at him, unfocused. She looked odd, older and madder. It scared him. He decided, now that she's awake, he should leave. It wasn't proper to be alone in a Lady's room. But when he started to turn, her eyes softened and she let out a small, wounded sound and looked young again, and very tired. 

"Morgana, I -" 

"Shush." She grabbed his forearm and pulled him into the bed.

She arranged him on his back and curled up against him, seeking comfort. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her. The stocks would seem like a picnic on a sunny, breezy spring day compared to what Arthur would do to him if he found them like this.

"Merlin," Morgana whispered, "you understand me."

"Er..." Did she have visions of his magic? "I..."

"I see it in your eyes." Her fingers brushed on the bare skin of his chest along the edge of his tunic. "Arthur thinks I'm going mad. Gaius and Gwen think I'm ill. Uther thinks I'm insolent."

"Do you remember your dreams?" he asked, trying to distract her or maybe himself from thinking about her leg thrown over his, the dangerous feel of it.

"Not tonight's." It came out sounding grateful. 

They fell into silence. Merlin realized their breathes had synced and he knew she could feel his heart beating like a wild rabbit's.

Her fingers wandered down his chest. Her leg moved and brushed him where his body had reacted in an inappropriate manner towards a Lady. 

She moved then, covering him with her whole body, she kissed him. He screamed inside of his head _'Dungeons! Death! Fire!_

The intoxicating smell and feel of her hair, falling around his face, overpowered him and the scared voice in his head became drowned out by the sound of their kisses and their breathing.

When her kisses held more intent, more seriousness, he tried to stop. "We shouldn't."

She ignored him, rolled him on top of her and pulled down his breeches, just far enough for her to hold his cock. 

No one had ever touched him before. It stunned him. He didn't notice she'd lifted her nightgown, until she started to urge him forward.

"I've never..." he said.

"It's all right," she whispered. Her legs spread for him.

The tight, hot wetness surrounding his cock, the soft skin of her thighs pushed up against him, felt like nothing he'd ever imagined. He buried his face in her neck and let his body tell him what to do, thrusting into her only a few times when it all overpowered him. 

He started to shake, trying to hold back. She soothed him, petting his back. "Come for me, my darling." 

He came hard, blinded, deaf from blood pounding in his ears, muscles taught. It would've been terrifying if it didn't feel so wonderful.

Morgana smiled, looking pleased. "Help me," she said, taking a breast out of her gown and urging him to it. 

Merlin licked and she moaned, "Suck." So he did, while she slid her hand between them. She rubbed the wetness between her legs, his cock still inside, still semi-hard. She spread her legs more and Merlin sucked and started to thrust again. 

He didn't know what he'd done right, but she grabbed his hair tight, moaning and shaking like he had when he came. 

"Merlin," she breathed. "Oh, Merlin, promise me you'll always be here for me. You'll always believe in me."

Merlin wanted to say 'yes' and 'always', but it felt like that promise came at the risk of being there for Arthur, like he had to choose between them.

He didn't want to lie to her. So he kissed her and thrust into her harder, hoping she wouldn't notice he never answered.

* * *

**53.**

“Sire,” Merlin raises his voice as he steps closer to his bed and Arthur raises an eyebrow in return, daring him to continue in the same tone. “I’m just trying to help you start the day.”

“And you being annoying is helping me how, exactly?” Arthur asks before he flings the goblet from his bedstand across the room. Merlin uses the pillow Arthur had thrown before as a shield and pushes it away.

“Oh, I don’t know! Some people would appreciate seeing a friendly face fist thing in the morning.”

“Maybe not your friendly face,” Arthur says. Merlin glares at him.

“Maybe not,” He says grumpily, finally close enough to drop the pillow back where it belongs. “What would you want, then?" What way do I find to wake his royal highness up without him being in the mood to kill me when he opens his eyes?”

Arthur lets himself wonder about that one. Given the state he finds himself in most mornings, he could probably think of a few pleasant activities that would help him chase the sleepiness away, and they actually required staying in bed for a few moments longer which was always a plus. They didn’t have to involve Merlin, of course, but—

He must’ve thought a bit harder about it because he feels that a small smirk has made its way onto his face and Merlin’s looking rather sheepish. Arthur’s smile drops.

“No, Merlin,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t say anything,” Merlin interrupts, obviously wanting to spare Arthur and himself the awkwardness. Arthur catches a sight of his flushed cheeks before Merlin turns around and busies himself around the table.

“But you thought about it,” Arthur decides to tease.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin says, and there isn’t a thing he could say that could make him more obvious than that, really.

“You did! Did you actually consider it? Are you going to try it tomorrow, should I prepare myself?” His little speech is interrupted as one of the plates meets the floor with a loud clang

“Not your wisest choice of words, Arthur,” Merlin mumbles.

“What, ‘prepare myself’?” Arthur laughs. “Wow, Merlin, I never knew!” 

“Shut up.”

“…he said to the crown prince and got himself hanged.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna hang me for that, are you?” Merlin asks over his shoulder. Arthur gives him a small smile.

“No, I’m not gonna do that. Come here, Merlin.” He hesitates and Arthur sighs. “Just come.”

Finally, Merlin steps closer and sits on the bed (but only after Arthur has patted the spot impatiently). Arthur spares them both the trouble and leans in for a kiss right away, his fingers running through Merlin’s hair, pulling lightly and grazing the tip of a ridiculous ear. Merlin trembles and shifts closer as he kisses back, shifting entirely onto the bed and fisting Arthur’s nightshirt as he rises onto his knees. A wide grin spreads across his face when he pulls back.

“I thought about it,” he says goofily and Arthur laughs, leaning forward again and seeking another kiss. “No,” Merlin says and licks his lips. “I… have thought about it,” he says lowly  
as his fingers brush against Arthur’s thigh. 

“Oh?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah,” Merlin replies as he touches Arthur’s clothed cock lightly and Arthur groans.

“So have I,” Arthur says before he kisses him again. “But you don’t have to,” he says hastily when he pulls away again. “Not now, I mean—”

“Shut up,” Merlin says again, and Arthur does. 

Merlin’s all long fingers and sly smiles as he takes his time getting Arthur’s cock out of his pants, and he’s talking again but Arthur doesn’t hear a thing – he’s too busy appreciating his tone, the feeling of Merlin’s voice in his ears and Merlin’s hands on his body; Merlin’s lips are pulled in a seductive smirk but soon it disappears as those lips touch Arthur’s skin and he just moans. Merlin’s moaning, too – around him – as he sucks and tongues and does a little bit more of that, yeah, fuck, and Arthur’s coming. He’s soon laying back and pulling Merlin on top of himself, letting him rut on top of him and touching anywhere his hands can get.

And when Merlin tenses and lets out a small choking sound right in Arthur’s ear, he decides that’s all he needs to hear from Merlin in the morning in order to start a wonderful day.

* * *

 **54.**  
 **Title:** Semper Fidelis

“Come here.” 

Arthur sat, beckoning Merlin with challenge in his eyes. After today’s combat with Valiant, and his father’s displeasure, Arthur was desperate to have Merlin, here, where, before these thrones Merlin’s faithfulness was proven, but he was the prince and would go to his knees for no man. But he could sit upon his seat of power and grace this upon Merlin. As Merlin came closer, Arthur gestured to the space between his legs. 

“Here.” Something uncurled in his chest as Merlin acquiesced with minimal complaint and swiftly, lest he lose his nerve, Arthur wrenched Merlin’s belt undone, dropping it to grasp the waistband of his rough trousers. 

“What are - Arthur- is this because-earlier?” Wide eyes cautious, Merlin tried to step away but the fencing allowed mere inches.

“No.” Arthur shrugged. Arthur shoved a hand into Merlin’s trousers, palming the stiffening cock, smiling at Merlin’s sibilant curse. “Yes.”

“What-”

“You were truthful. Loyal. I can trust you.” Merlin was taken aback at the solemnity of Arthur’s tone. “Can’t I?” he drawled.  
Merlin’s head fell forward to look at his prince; Arthur’s eye’s bright with mirth and a hint of fear, questioning though his smirk suggested he knew Merlin’s answer. Arthur used his tongue to lift an end of the lace fastening Merlin’s trousers, drawing it between his teeth, nose grazing the hard cock beneath, tugging, dropping it triumphantly as it loosened and worked his hands beneath the fabric, jerking trousers and underclothes down to Merlin’s ankles.

“Yes.” Merlin whispered, hands shifting to the railing for stability.

Filling his palms with Merlin’s ass, Arthur mouthed the plump cock-head before him, tonguing beneath the foreskin to suckle it between his lips, before taking more of Merlin’s cock into his mouth, tongue pressing tight.

“Oh,” Merlin breathed as he felt Arthur’s throat constrict, the hot suction on his shaft overwhelming, body listing forward, hands scrabbling at broad shoulders as Arthur pulled back just to swallow him down again, humming this time, hands roughly massaging Merlin’s backside, playing with his crack to hear Merlin’s moans flood the stadium as Arthur’s hands slid down the sensitive backs of his thighs, to knees and tugged as he pulled back, cock popping free as he gazed up at Merlin’s befuddled face, grazing his chapped lips back and forth across the slit, coating them in the fluid seeping forth.

Merlin’s knees obeyed and as Arthur felt him settle, he roughly fisted Merlin’s cock, the friction just the sweet side of painful as Merlin’s hips arched up sharply in response, hands combed into Arthur’s hair, jerking Arthur’s head back, cocking his head as he gently leant forward, half expecting Arthur to turn away. When he didn’t, Merlin lapped himself off Arthur’s lips before surrendering control, the prince’s sucking Merlin’s tongue, teasing its sensitive underside with his own as, dry, he pushed against Merlin’s hole, teasing .

i>“Fuck,” Merlin growled, pulling away to get air, shifting back onto Arthur’s finger, before jerking forward to fuck his fist before both hands were gone, leaving him bereft, until he felt Arthur’s hands clumsy with need, and lack of practice, tearing at his own lacings. Merlin intervened, muttering at Arthur’s incompetence, unwilling to wait any longer than necessary to get Arthur’s hands back on him or to get his hands on the shaft straining up towards Arthur’s stomach as it was freed, slick head slicking Merlin’s hand. He only managed a couple of heady pulls before Arthur wrapped his rough palm around them both, other hand sliding to smooth lower back, clutching his servant close at the feel of nothing separating their flesh, as they writhed together.

Arthur jacked them in a punishing rhythm, long out of control, robbed of stamina by fatigue, head tipped forward to watch their cocks penetrate his fist, other hand biting rough into Merlin’s buttocks, hips pumping as Merlin urged him on, hands stuffed beneath Arthur’s tunic, scratching blunt nails across straining abdominals, biting at Arthur’s neck having lost the prince’s mouth.

Arthur’s broken “Mer-” as he came in harsh spasms, the warrior beautiful, eyes flashing in the torchlight, crooked teeth sinking into the plump flesh of his lower lip, kicked Merlin over the edge, cock jerking as he spent.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, reverent. His legs were uncomfortably hobbled and his ass cold but the heat of Arthur, the sight of their cocks covered in each other’s release was more than worth it.

Releasing Merlin at his whine, Arthur smeared his come-stained hand upon his father’s throne.

“One day, I’ll fuck you on that one.”

* * *

**55.**

“He has a fragment of sword embedded in his chest.”

“Then we’ll use magic to draw it out.”

“No, the blade that struck Arthur was no ordinary blade. I fear it was forged in dragon’s breath. The blade’s point is travelling inexorably towards his heart. It would take power as ancient as dragons themselves to thwart such magic.”

“There must be something we can do, Gaius. I can’t just watch him die.”

Merlin can tell Gaius knows something, but hasn’t decided whether to share the knowledge.

“Just tell me,” Merlin goes off, earning only a raised eyebrow. “Please,” he adds much more mildly.

“There was a custom amongst druidic tribes, the ultimate way of binding two people’s souls, allowing them to share their burdens and strength.”

“If I give myself to him, my immortality won’t let him die,” Merlin says after a moment of contemplation.

“Nothing is certain, my boy. It could drain you and kill you both.”

“It’s worth the risk.”

~~~xxx~~~

“All these years, you’ve lied to me,” Arthur says, never meeting Merlin’s gaze.

“I had to.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I didn’t want to make you choose.”

~~~xxx~~~

“We’re here, the sacred ground. We can do this.”

“It’s too late,” Arthur says. 

He sounds resigned.

“I’m not going to lose you.”

Merlin lets his magic do the work, undressing them both. 

“I wish we had time to do it properly. I wish I could make you enjoy it as much as you should,” Merlin says, tendrils of his power preparing Arthur. They’re gentle, warm and soothing, just like Merlin himself would be.

“Just hold me, please,” Arthur breathes out, his weight resting on Merlin completely.

“Arthur, don’t,” Merlin chokes out, his throat constricted with emotions. “I’ll save you. I have to…”

“There’s something I need to say…”

Arthur’s breath hitches as Merlin guides himself slowly inside his body.

“Shh, there will be time for talking later.” 

There’s no stopping the tears now.

“Everything you’ve done. For me, for Camelot,” Arthur says.

Merlin’s lips are forming words, the ancient language spilling from him without any conscious thought, his magic taking the lead. He’s rolling his hips, the pleasure feels bittersweet as it coils low in his belly. 

“I never said this to you before,” Arthur continues, his eyes barely open as he looks at Merlin. 

His cock is half hard when Merlin reaches for it. He doubts Arthur even realizes.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispers, small smile playing on his lips. “I love you.” Almost inaudible.

His eyes flutter closed. 

“No, Arthur, no,” Merlin breathes out. 

He speeds up his movements, clutching at Arthur’s still form. 

“Arthur,” he shouts, his magic pushing him the last step towards his release.

He feels Arthur’s cock jumping under his palm, his power helping them when most needed.

In one moment, he feels like being torn apart and set back together in a different order. Images flash through his mind, Camelot, their friends, places and people he doesn’t know, his own face.

Sharp pain bursts in his side, like a serket bite only so much worse. He cries out, closing his eyes.

‘I love you too,’ he thinks before succumbing to darkness.

~~~xxx~~~

He’s warm, incredibly so. He doesn’t want to wake up yet, but something tells him he should. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, staring up at a colourful canopy of trees. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Arthur murmurs, linking their fingers together. “It seems we missed the whole summer.”

“Maybe more than one,” Merlin says, trying to remember if the trees were always this tall and this close.

“Let’s see then,” Arthur says.

“Not yet,” Merlin whispers into Arthur’s ear and cuddles closer. “We have all the time in the world.”

* * *

**56.**

About a month after they married, when Arthur addressed Gwen at a banquet one evening, she realised she was never going to be able to hear name in his voice again without getting butterflies in her stomach.

Because his casual, “what do you think, Guinevere?” was not so different from – 

– his teasing ‘Guine _vere_ ’ when his lips were trailing down her inner thigh, pressing kisses mere inches away from where she wanted them – 

– his desperate, breathless ‘ _Guinevere_ ’ when she sat astride him and slowly took his prick inside herself –

– And she was lost for words. Her face burned. 

“You did that on purpose,” she said afterwards when they were in her chambers.

Arthur paused nuzzling her neck and said, “did what on purpose?”

“Said my name like that.”

His lips pressed against her collar bone. She shivered. “I did nothing of the sort, _Guine_ vere.”

“You’re doing it right now!” she hissed.

“I’m not doing anything.” He paused. “ _Guinevere_.”

He slid to his knees and pressed his lips against her stomach, kissing her through the sheer fabric of her slip. “Mmm. If I’ve irritated you, you shall just have to make me pay for it later.”

Naturally, Arthur had refused to bed her before they were married. Not even when they were officially betrothed. He had set a ‘no hands below the waist’ rule and kept to it.

Gwen hadn’t realised just how frustrating he was finding his own damned rule until their wedding night. It had been rough and sloppy and frantic. Afterwards, when they were tangled and sweaty and Gwen was still shaking, he had turned to her and said, “I have no intention of leaving our rooms tomorrow. Or possibly this bed. Just so you know.”

She had laughed.

He pulled up her slip and kissed her properly, just at the top of her thigh. “Although,” he kissed her again, a little lower. “I really don’t see what’s so irritating about saying your name.”

“It’s very distracting.”

“Oh, it’s _distracting_ , is it?” his head dipped lower. “Distracting, Guinevere? Because it’s not like you’re never _distracting_.”

“What do I do that’s distracting?” His thumb brushed the underside of her knee.

“You keep looking at me,” said Arthur. “With those eyes of yours.” His hand squeezed her thigh. “And you were _that dress_. You know, the one you were wearing tonight.” His breath was brushing against her cunt. “Really, it’s a wonder I get anything done.”

“Arthur, if you don’t stop teasing soon I really _will_ be irritated.”

“Mmm,” he said again. Then he stood up and kissed her on the mouth the way that always made her head spin. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him lift her off the ground.

“I refuse to stop saying your name,” he said once she was settled on the bed. “It’s a lovely name. Guinevere.” He lifted her shift with a flourish.

He was smirking up at her. She trailed a hand through his hair then pushed his head down between her legs.

“ _Guinevere_ ,” he said, voice suddenly rough. She opened her legs.

He pressed a few more kisses to her inner thigh, then stopped teasing and went straight to the heart of her cunt, tongue twisting hot between her labia.

Arthur had figured out very quickly that this was one of his favourite things to do. Gwen rarely saw him more content than when his face was buried betwixt her legs – not that she was complaining in the slightest.

She kept her hand in his hair while he ate her out. He moaned and drew back a little, just enough to get his fingers in, spreading her apart so he could get his tongue even deeper.

Gwen’s toes curled against the bedsheets. “Yes,” she said. Arthur moaned again and this time the sound seemed to go right through her. She cried out.

“Guinevere,” he said, lips moving against her. She tightened her grip on his hair and held him in place, where she wanted him, until she came, her whole body thrumming.

She didn’t realise she had screamed again until after, when she was panting and Arthur’s head was pillowed on her thigh. “You’re very noisy,” he said. “See, that’s another thing that’s distracting.”

“That’s not a distraction,” said Gwen, voice trembling. “It’s an encouragement.”

He hummed and agreement. She felt his fingers on her cunt again, toying with her, testing how wet she was. “By the way, I’ve made sure both our schedules are clear for tomorrow. Thought you ought to know.”

* * *

**57.**

The first time Gwen discovers them, it is like this.

Merlin moves between Arthur’s thighs, in, deeper. He takes Arthur in hand and strokes in time with his thrusts, building a rhythm it’s hard to believe comes from the same man who can’t walk and speak at the same time without tripping over his own feet. Arthur’s cock leaks seed on his belly as Merlin fills him again and again. 

“Is it good?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur nods. Words he must not say threaten to bubble up from his throat. He clenches his jaw.

“Tell me it’s good, you prat.” 

“It’s good, it’s good. Get on with it, Merlin.”

“Oh, I’ll get on with it.” Merlin grimaces with effort and pulls out before slamming back in, this time with enough force to steal Arthur’s breath. 

It is only later, once he is back in his own chambers, that Arthur realizes they’ve been seen. Gwen greets him with a stony stare. There are tears, and a promise it won’t happen again, and an empty ache that mocks Arthur’s oath. He must conquer this. He must.

***

The second time is the same.

***

And the third. 

“I’m not a foolish person, Arthur,” Gwen says with a straight spine. “Do not lie and say there is nothing between you any longer.” 

Arthur’s guts twist with shame. He covers his face with hands that still smell of Merlin, of the places Arthur has touched and tasted, the places he has . . .

“I’m sorry.” He is a liar, and the disgrace of it courses hot within him. 

“Why did you marry me? Do you love me?”

He stands. “Of course I do.” 

The tight line of her mouth softens. “Promise me.”

***

It has been a month since he last visited Merlin’s chambers, and need flares in Arthur’s belly. He turns to Gwen and prods his hard prick against her. She welcomes him with open arms, and as he releases inside of her, her warm slickness drawing him in, Arthur closes his eyes and imagines wide blue eyes and hot seed.

***

He can’t stop watching Merlin as he settles the camp for the evening, jesting with the knights and tending the horses, but never returning Arthur’s gaze. 

That burnt, raw ache claws its way into Arthur’s throat, and when Merlin leaves to collect firewood, Arthur follows. 

He takes Merlin braced against a tree, the bark rough at his back. Merlin sobs and clings to him as Arthur spears him deeply, cock working in and out with full, long thrusts. 

“I thought it was over,” Merlin whispers against his neck. “Oh gods. I know it’s wrong, but I need it.” 

Merlin’s hard prick bounces between them and releases without even being touched. Seed paints Arthur’s loosened breeches but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care. He can’t stop. Merlin stifles the roar of Arthur’s climax with his insolent, lush tongue.

***

“Who told you?” Arthur asks Gwen. She gazes levelly back at him.

“Does it matter?” 

Arthur suspects Leon, but no, he supposes it doesn’t matter. He shakes his head. 

“I want to see. To be there, so I can understand.” 

“With—” 

“Yes.”

***

Gwen sits near the bed in the candle-lit room. Merlin’s heart is beating so rapidly Arthur can see it tattoo against his ribs. 

“I’m so sorry, Gwen,” Merlin says.

Her look isn’t cold, but it’s not exactly pleased. “You sound just like Arthur.” 

It’s awkward at first, and their touches are tentative. Neither one of them is roused. But when Arthur presses his nakedness against Merlin’s, his kisses grow less tender, more desperate. Merlin moans and meets hard flesh with hard flesh. That delirium sweeps through Arthur, that one that eases away the ache and makes him whole. He slicks Merlin with liniment and inches his arousal into that tight sheath, and he can barely withstand the pleasure of it. 

All is madness. When Arthur turns his head, he sees Gwen’s own hand moving between her legs. Merlin sees too, when Gwen nods indulgently.

Arthur shudders against Merlin, melting into his body as Gwen moans.

***

“I understand now. I’m not happy about it, but I understand.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ll try . . .” 

Another lie, and from the shake of her head, Gwen knows it. “I don’t know whether to hate you, feel sorry for you, or envy you.” 

“All three?” 

There is a slight smile on her face when she embraces him. “Maybe. Maybe, let’s do that again.”

* * *

**58.**

"Just looking for a few coins," Elyan had still said some time ago when he met others along the way, trudging just off the road, hoods drawn into their faces. Because it kept people from asking questions. They were all looking for the same thing after all: some bread, some wine, something to forget.

He kissed a girl behind the tavern, got his face between her legs before he put his cock there, and he told her, instead, about being a knight from some faraway kingdom. She believed him too as she felt his muscles and muttered into his neck, and he got some coins from her father for some help on the farm.

The knight turned into maybe something of a secret prince, royal lineage, at least, but in hiding _ssshhh_ , as he left villages in his wake and girls with it.

"It's a secret though," he said behind the barn into a girl's ear. Her husband was watching from across the way but he was only a farmer, so who was he to interfere in practically royal business? She went with him easy into her marital bed and spread her legs for him and maybe a spawn. A kiss goodbye at the door, and he was on his way the next morning with a few men he'd picked up along the way.

The tune he whistled was the one from home though, the one his father always had on his lips as he brought the hammer down on the iron, sparks flying. The one Gwen hummed when she brushed dresses and dreamed of having been born up in the castle and not down in the shitter with the rest of them.

"It is what it is," their father used to say when Arthur and his cronies of near-equal standing rampaged through the lower village just looking for a fight. "You are who you were born to be," his father would say and press a hammer into his hand to beat the iron while it was still hot and turn the other cheek.

He'd sneaked out in the middle of the night, told Gwen that he'd make it better for them, and set out to walk the roads of the kingdom. He was a miller's son one day, a foreign prince the next, and just someone looking for adventure in the middle, as he pleased.

The girl between his legs tonight was a barmaid, without husband and without family, and she sucked the cock of a mercenary, or so he had her believe. It came easy now, to pull a story out of thin air, harder to remember why he'd left in the first place and who he'd had left behind. She slurped at him, got her mouth down all the way to his balls while he beat the iron while it was still hot (while he still had stories inside him, people he was meant to be).

He'd go back eventually, he figured, as he took her from behind over the bar a few horses were tied to. She moaned with him. He'd go back to Gwen (thrust), and his father (thrust), and the god-forsaken village (thrust thrust) and he'd be someone other than someone's son and someone's brother.

Everyone deserved to be someone.

He spent himself inside the maid, and maybe she'd carry a child from it. He'd have mattered a little then at least.

* * *

**59.**

Arthur tosses the blankets away, spreading across the bed in frustration. He can't sleep; the night is only finally starting to cool off, and he feels tense and restless. There is a meeting the next day, one that promises to be long and boring, and Arthur can't afford to arrive late, appear distracted, or fall asleep during the meeting, not with his father watching him like a hawk and so much hanging on the treaty, so he really does need his sleep. 

He has options. He can go to Gaius, request a potion. But that is quite dangerous, and he might not be all that alert when he finally does rise. He can go for a run, work off some energy. But that's also risky, and it doesn't guarantee he'll sleep. His other option, though... Arthur raises his head from his pillow, looks down at his cock, and grins. His other option is perfect.

Arthur reaches between his legs, cupping his balls before taking his cock in hand and stroking. He stiffens gradually, and Arthur settles back against his pillows, closing his eyes as he continues to fist his cock.

Merlin is the latest person to enter his fantasies and Arthur usually tries to avoid those fantasies, because he knows just how wrong they are. But that night, of all nights, it's impossible to resist.

Arthur pictures Merlin as he was earlier that day, whispering with Morgana. Now there is a picture that is only marginally better, Morgana being his father's ward and a lady. His hand even stills on his cock. And yet-

"What they don't know can't hurt them," Arthur whispers, resuming his strokes. Merlin and Morgana, with their dark hair and pale skin and light eyes - it would be hard to figure out where one ended and the other began, their bodies pressed together. Morgana, despite being a lady, would push Merlin down and climb on top, pinning him down with slim hands. The picture of them, together, makes Arthur draw in a sharp breath, and he quickens his strokes. 

Morgana would lean over Merlin, her breasts in his face, and he'd latch on to her nipples, sucking and teasing, while Morgana lowered herself over his cock. And when she was finally seated on Merlin, they'd both moan. Merlin would let Morgana set the pace, at first, but Merlin's no retiring wallflower there for Morgana to control. Arthur knows all too well how Merlin likes to fight back. He'd take charge, or at least attempt to take charge, possibly by rolling them over, and settling between Morgana's thighs, her legs around his hips.

Arthur wonders how much experience Merlin has, if he knows what to do with a woman. He imagines it's not a lot, but for the sake of his fantasy, Merlin knows just how to push into Morgana, just where to touch her, to make her cry out and shudder around his cock. He'll pull out and come over Morgana's stomach, not wanting to get her pregnant. 

Just as the Merlin in his dreams comes, Arthur tightens his fist around his cock, feels his balls pull up tight, verging on orgasm. He thinks of Merlin's face, lax with pleasure that Arthur put there - _Morgana_ Arthur thinks, frantic - and explodes. The orgasm is surprisingly strong and when it finally abates, he feels like he spent forever coming. It's almost too much of an effort to clean himself up, but Arthur does because he doesn't want Merlin to notice - that would be awkward. How could he ever face Merlin without wondering just how he would look, lax with pleasure and breathless with exhaustion? No, far better to clean himself up.

(Sleep is surprisingly easy to manage after, however. Arthur absolutely doesn't make a note of that.)

* * *

**60.**

Gwaine's first training session as an official knight of Camelot is rough. Arthur runs rings around poor Percival, darting underneath Percival's large arms as if they were actual tree boughs. Gwaine can barely believe Arthur is wearing all that armour, he's so fast. 

“Who's next?” Arthur asks, helping Percival back to his feet. 

“Me,” Gwaine says, swinging his sword up. Arthur nods once, all tightly held control and stands in the centre of the field. Gwaine walks over and stands in front of him. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“And go!” Leon announces and Arthur jumps into action. He catches Gwaine off-guard, but Gwaine's fought in far worse conditions and soon manages to defend himself. 

They parry well, the ringing of their swords harsh against Gwaine's ears. Arthur is grunting with exertion, face set with determination and Gwaine thinks that Arthur is incredibly attractive like this, and that Gwaine is very glad that they are on the same side. 

Gwaine's thoughts are distracting and that is his downfall. He slips and Arthur takes advantage of it, slipping under his defence and dropping him on the floor. 

Gwaine lies there, muttering up at the sky. He can here cheering and jeering from the men. He resists the urge to make a rude gesture. 

Arthur appeared in his line of sight, not looking as smug as Gwaine had expected. 

“You got distracted,” he said. “Keep your head on the field, not in the tavern.” 

“I wasn't thinking about the tavern!” Gwaine protests as Arthur helps him up. 

“Then I dread to think what you were thinking about,” Arthur replies. 

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Gwaine mutters, bending his head close to Arthur's. “I think you'd be very interested in what's on my mind.” Gwaine doesn't look back as he walks away, swaggering a little. 

**

There's a knock on Gwaine's door that night. 

“Come,” he shouts, turning to see his visitor. Arthur walks in, looking every bit the noble king. Gwaine stands up straighter. 

“Sire,” he says.

“Gwaine. I wanted to talk to you about training today.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. He assumes he's going to get a talk about appropriateness and he can't be arsed with it and is going to make Arthur work for it. 

“There's a time and place for comments like that, and the battlefield is not one of them, Gwaine.” 

“I'm sorry, I'll keep my inappropriate thoughts to myself until an appropriate time presents itself. When exactly is the appropriate time?” 

It's a gamble, Gwaine knows, but he doesn't care. Arthur has more than enough space in this conversation to back out of this. Arthur rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smirk somewhere in his eyes. 

“Well, in private,” Arthur said, advancing on Gwaine. Gwaine tilted his head. “And only if you mean it. It's...inadvisable to joke about these matters.”

“Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“Exactly.” 

Arthur's standing right in front of Gwaine now, and Gwaine's _nervous_ , which is ridiculous. He wants to say something foolish to break the tension but his mind is a blank slate of lust and shock. Fucking Arthur, he thinks. 

“Now, I think we're in an appropriate setting. So, why don't you tell me what you had on your mind today?”

Gwaine swallows, throat dry. “I could show you,” he drops to his knees and Arthur gasps above him. 

Gwaine unlaces Arthur's britches, tugging Arthur's half-hard cock out and stroking it. Arthur swore as he got fully hard, and Gwaine looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes. 

Arthur was flushed, eyes dark and Gwaine grinned before leaning forward, taking Arthur into his mouth.

Gwaine closes his eyes as Arthur's cock rests heavy on his tongue. He sucks at it gently, vindicated when one of Arthur's hands cups the back of his head, tugging him closer. 

Gwaine's own cock is a steady press against his trousers, and he shifts a bit, trying to relieve the pressure. He grips at Arthur's cock, moving his head up and down. Arthur groans and his thighs shake. 

It's hard to grin when someone is coming down your throat, but Gwaine give it a good go. He cleans Arthur with his tongue until Arthur takes an unsteady step back. He's even more flushed, bottom lip swollen from where he's bitten it. 

“That's far more appropriate,” he says, breathlessly.

* * *

**61.**

The first time the knights dispersed to private rooms with serving wenches on their arms, Percival gave the girl a peck on the cheek, a coin for her trouble, and climbed out the window. It was better than trying to explain his lack of experience. Everybody assumed from looking at him that he wasn't a virgin, but they were always wrong.

Every time after that, he made sure he got the same girl. She was sweet in her discretion and probably relieved she didn't have to sleep with him to have bragging rights about bedding a knight. Though the others teased him about his fidelity, all he had to do to divert attention from awkward questions was goad Gwaine into sharing details of his adventures.

The plan worked until the night Merlin caught him.

"You weren't being held prisoner in there, were you?" Merlin said.

Percival nearly stumbled at Merlin's unexpected appearance. Of all the people to find him...and how did he explain this? As he struggled to come up with a story, he pretended to brush dirt from his trousers, furious that his hands shook in Merlin's presence.

"It's all right." The teasing had gone from Merlin's voice, replaced with something softer, gentler. "I won't tell."

He glanced up, surprised. "Not even Gwaine?"

Merlin grinned. "Something tells me, especially not Gwaine."

This was why he liked Merlin so much. Nobody else understood the way Merlin did. 

"What do you do instead?" Merlin asked.

Embarrassed Merlin knew about the knights' night out, Percival flushed and shrugged. "Sneak back to my room."

"Want some company?"

In his head, the answer was a resounding yes. How many times had he fantasized about having Merlin in his bed? Feeling him writhe as he mapped out every plane and angle of his body? Sucking his cock until Merlin buried himself in Percival's throat and emptied his balls? But then reached the point where it was Percival's turn to get off, and the dream would end because Percival couldn't get past his nerves about what he should do next.

He couldn't say no, though, not when he'd wanted this since coming to Camelot. With a nod, he headed back to the citadel, Merlin silent at his side.

At his door, he fumbled, too large, too clumsy, too everything. He was about to tell Merlin thanks but no thanks, when a warm hand slipped inside the back of his shirt and Merlin pressed to his side.

"It's all right." Merlin's lips ghosted the words along Percival's bare arm. "I won't tell."

The shudder that went through Percival undid him. Merlin was the one to push the door open, the one to guide Percival inside, the one to sequester them in solitude. When his hands dropped to work at Percival's trousers, Percival finally found the courage to take control.

"Not like this."

He scooped Merlin over his shoulder and headed for the bed before his knees gave out on him completely. Merlin's laughter ricocheted inside the room, filling it with the warmth Percival had always craved.

He was still smiling as Percival stripped him. Though Percival's cock ached, he focused on the bounty he'd finally been given, inches upon inches of pale perfect skin to taste and lick, peaked nipples to suck and bite, sharp juts of bone and smooth curves of unexpected muscle to savor. He ignored the long shaft with its glistening crown peeking out from the foreskin as long as he could, but even that became too much to resist.

When Percival sucked the tip into his mouth, Merlin arched away from the bed with a strangled cry. The bed shook, once, hard, snapping Percival's attention away from their pleasure and straight to Merlin's glowing eyes.

The world shuttled away, leaving just them, just that moment, just this discovery.

Merlin froze. Percival's heart pounded, harder than it ever had for battle. He was not the only one with secrets. He wasn't the only one pretending to be something he wasn't. He should've been terrified, because magic was everything he'd been told to fear, but he wasn't.

Because this was Merlin.

His body no longer trembled as he stretched to cover Merlin's body with his. Carefully, he caught Merlin's wrists in a single grip, twisted them against the bedframe to get them out of the way, and bent to kiss Merlin the way he'd wanted from the start.

"It's all right," he whispered, pouring his heart into his vow. "I won't tell."

* * *

**62.**

Arthur approaches Morgana after the feast. She smirks at him but lets him link their arms and lead her back to her chambers.

"You were quite lucky," she says when they are almost to her door. "If that servant hadn't been there, you would have been killed."

Morgana knows full well how her words will affect him, yet Arthur can't help his reaction. His voice turns gruff. "I would have dodged either way. I _am_ a trained knight. The best knight in all of Camelot."

"If all of our knights need saving from servant boys, then I fear for Camelot's safety!" 

Her mocking infuriates Arthur, heats his face and makes him feel unworthy, but still he takes care when he grips her arm and forces her into her chambers. He shuts the door behind him, and Morgana procures the key to lock it.

"Must you antagonize me every time?" Arthur asks when she turns to face him.

Morgana wraps her arms around his neck. "If you are looking for a docile, obedient woman, there are many simpering ladies still by the feast hall, waiting for their chance to snag the great Prince Arthur."

They both know that Arthur does not want a docile, obedient woman. Her words excite him the way nothing else can, and every humiliating word she throws at him causes his cock to twitch. In public, he lashes out, because he cannot have the world know that the Prince of Camelot enjoys being mocked by a woman.

Here, in private, he lets Morgana lead him to the bed. She pushes him down onto it and lays next to him, her elegant fingers undoing the string on his breeches. Arthur groans when his cock is given freedom, and Morgana laughs. 

"Were you hiding that the entire time? After that servant saved you, were you thinking about how useless you are? How Uther watched you get rescued by a mere commoner?" She accentuates her words with feather light touches, and it shouldn't be this arousing to him, but he can't help it, he wants _more_.

Arthur reaches out and pushes the fabric of her dress aside, so that one breast is exposed, and begins twirling his thumb over her nipple. Morgana hmms in approval and her hand on his cock stutters for a second, giving him firmer contact, but then she moves her hands away altogether.

"I'm not sure you even deserve any of this. Mayhap I should be rewarding that servant! He did, after all, single-handedly save Camelot, all while the Prince lay around doing nothing!"

The thought is disgusting and appealing all at once. He doesn't want to see Morgana with anybody so beneath her station, but the servant was pale and dark-haired, just like Morgana, and Arthur can imagine how beautiful they would look together. "Make me watch," he blurts out, and he's unsure if he meant to say that out loud or not.

Morgana's smile widens. "Of course I would. I would have you sit on that chair, right over there, and tie you-- no. You would have to sit there and watch of your own volition, and know that no matter how much you wanted it, you'd never come even close to equal to a simple servant."

She sits up and pulls her dress up past her thighs, giving Arthur a clear view of her cunt. He stares, mesmerized by her, until she clears her throat and says, "Well? Get on with it. It's about the only thing you can do right."

Arthur scrambles to obey. He breathes in deeply, enjoying the scent of her musk, but her hand on the back of his head urges him forward. He licks and sucks, concentrating on that one small bud she taught him about. He remembers the first time, when she told him that he was _terrible_ , because he didn't yet know how to give a woman pleasure, and even those insults made him hard.

Morgana is pleased now though, because her words have lost coherency. He pushes one finger inside her and wishes that could be his dick, with her walls pulsating around him. He increases the pressure, curls his fingers and licks until she is gasping and shuddering.

Once she stills, she pushes him away. "Finish yourself," she says, and Arthur begins to stroke himself. Morgana knows that he prefers it like this, that he doesn't want a hint of kindness.

He spills all over himself, ashamed at how much he enjoys being worthless.

* * *

**63.**

In the Stands

The spring sun beat down on the field. There was an air of excitement as townsfolk and nobles alike gathered for the first contest of the year, the Tournament of Squires. It was a casual affair – the King himself stood at the fence during the Pages' Rounds, cheering and laughing as young boys clashed wooden swords and lacquered shields. Uther soon retired to the stands with Morgana and a few nobles, but the prince, Arthur, had eschewed the formality to join the common-folk lining the field.

Arthur found a shady spot by the south stands where he and his new manservant, Merlin, gained a clear view of the field. Squires Tomas and Theodore nodded solemnly as Leon, the Master of Ceremonies, reviewed the rules.

Squire Theodore was a tall, comely teen whose bout drew a bevy of giggling admirers. They lined the fence, shouting and flirting outrageously as Theo's cheeks coloured with pleasure.

Arthur chuckled, guarding his personal space as young ladies (and perhaps a few matrons) packed the lawn between fence and stands. The prince soon found himself pressed back towards the boards by the throng.

A hand pressed solidly against his back, propelling him forward. Turning, he found his servant shrinking tightly against the boards, arm raised to fend off Arthur from crushing him. With an apologetic grin, Arthur shifted a step forward. The look of profound relief on Merlin's face puzzled him, but his attention was drawn back to the field as a clash of steel heralded the Squires' engagement.

The young men danced across the field with promising agility, and Arthur followed their progress with a critical eye. Theo's footwork was deft, but he was too aware of his audience, more flash than substance. Tomas's relentless press drove him back. With a shout, Theo recovered his ground in a rush, driving his opponent against the fence, and as one, the crowd startled back from the rails. Arthur was knocked back abruptly, and he stumbled until Merlin's hands steadied him. Before long, the innkeeper's wife and the washer-woman crowded him again, and he was again driven back against Merlin. 

Glancing behind, he was struck by the look of fear on his manservant's face. Of course his buffoon of a servant would manifest a fear of crowds. He gripped the man’s arm reassuringly, and Merlin gave a half smile, his body stiff with discomfort. 

More towns-folk poured onto the green, and Arthur found himself defending Merlin's small square of space against the generous backside of the washer-woman, while the surge of the crowd pressed Arthur back into Merlin repeatedly. It soon became pointedly apparent why his manservant had been guarding his personal space so assertively.

Arthur quirked a grin, allowing the washer-woman to press him back hard against Merlin. He peeked over his shoulder to confirm Merlin was mortified, blinking in terror like a deer caught in the lanterns of a night-time hunting party.

Arthur arched back mercilessly, dragging his backside down along the length of Merlin’s ill-timed erection. The man was rock-hard, generously long, and Arthur wriggled to position the length of him into the crack of his arse. He let the ebb and press of the crowd set the rhythm as he rocked back against his servant.

As Arthur’s intent became clear, Merlin slowly grasped Arthur’s hip bones, pulling him against Merlin’s length, long fingers digging into his abdomen.

Beneath the press of the crowd, Merlin grew bolder, dipping under the hem of Arthur’s long shirt to fumble at his laces. He grasped Arthur’s cock, giving it a stroke before yanking Arthur’s trews down his hips. He felt the wet tip of Merlin’s cock press into the narrow gap between his thighs.

Appalled and delighted by Merlin’s boldness, Arthur squeezed his legs tight and allowed the servant to rut against him, gasping into his ear. Soon he felt the hot sticky trickle of Merlin’s release run down between his legs. The servant tugged Arthur’s cock frantically, and Arthur lifted his shirt to paint a white stain down the washer-woman’s voluminous skirts.

A shout rose from the crowd as Tomas vanquished his opponent. The fickle attentions of the young ladies turned tide as they rushed the field to shower the young squire with meadow flowers. 

Stepping forward to congratulate the victor, Arthur made a note to praise his servant for an unheralded efficiency at tucking them both neatly into their trews before their indiscretion became known. 

Perhaps this disaster of a manservant might work out after all.

* * *

**64.**

The quilts on the bed have a stale cupboard smell, and the pitch of the roof cuts so steeply into the room that when Merlin asks, Morgana lets him switch the pillows around to the foot of the bed. The only place he can stand up straight is just inside the door, and he doesn't fancy braining himself on the ceiling in the middle of the night.

There's a wind outside, sometimes quiet, sometimes sounding like wolves in the eaves. They'll want to wrap up as they continue their travels tomorrow. It's a cold autumn.

“I’m guttering the candle," Morgana says, pausing by the table at what is now the foot of the bed. The top of Merlin's head bobs. He's lying on his stomach, face mostly hidden under the covers, one arm hooked over his pillow. He doesn't reach for her in the dark, and she doesn't reach for him, but when she slides between the sheets her hip fits above his knee, warm.

Morgana doesn't feel sleep coming, and that's all right, sometimes she likes her nights better without it anyway. Her head is full of tomorrow, and a place far beyond this border hamlet and the reach of Uther's fist. Tomorrow they'll learn something, she and Merlin. They'll learn something and it will be something new, because it'll be something the rest of the world has forgotten.

She listens to the wind for a while, and the occasional faint noise from downstairs. They're staying the night in rooms over a tavern, a ratty old place where they've so far remained anonymous. When there's nothing to hear but the wind and the dry bone scratch of leaves on the roof, she knows closing time has come and gone. 

It's still too long before dawn.

In Camelot there sits a king who does not deserve to rule. He condemned an innocent child to die; last night she and Merlin saved the Druid boy and took him to his people, and in the doing confessed to each other truths that would have their heads on the block as well. 

Morgana wonders if Merlin's sleeping. She can't tell, doesn't know the signs, thinks he could probably fool her easily, if he wanted. She rubs her fingers over the back of his neck, through the soft, wayward hair there. He doesn't move, doesn't twitch. His breathing doesn't change.

Merlin's as ready for tomorrow as she is, that Morgana does know. She'd told him her dream of an isle made of magic, a stone altar dedicated to the power of the Old Religion, and his eyes had gleamed gold.

Between the two of them, the Isle of the Blessed will hold no secrets back.

Morgana hasn't shared a bed with Merlin before, but there are things that she knows. When he rolls to her in the night, hard, she lets her fingers go low. There's no sense of discovery or surprise when she slips inside his breeches and takes his cock in her hand; she's known this length, this thickness, in dreams she's never examined in daylight. Merlin's fingers grip her shoulder when she begins to stroke, and he bucks forward when she presses against the head, gathering wetness on her fingertips.

She holds his cock tight to her stomach, and lets him thrust. His breath is wild, and Morgana wants to drag his cock lower, press it between her legs, but she knows better than that. She'll make him return the favour later, and she's patient, waiting for it, arching her back to rub her breasts against his chest in the meantime, teasing her own nipples against his chest like a thief, because he's either too unsure or too distracted to do it himself.

When Merlin's body jerks and stiffens, he lets out a moan that's familiar, for all Morgana has never heard it while awake. She smiles to hear it now, and even wider when it becomes clear Merlin is eager to touch her; he hikes up her gown and dips his long fingers between her thighs. He's not artful, but he is careful, starting slow and letting the heat build until Morgana's blood is pounding and she's squeezing tight around his hand, pressing her hips up higher and higher. She's not quiet, and she doesn't care. They don't need to be, she and Merlin. They need be nothing but themselves.

This world will hear from them soon enough.

* * *

**65.**

i.

Morgana keeps everything from Morgause in a tiny box of dark wood inlaid with ivory. There isn't much--a few short letters, gently curving penmanship on scraps of paper; a few pieces of jewelry, simple and finely wrought; and a ribbon of silk that she'd wear wound in her hair or around her neck if not for the fear of losing it. 

She keeps them in the box not only to hide them away from the world but also to hide them from herself. A rare preciousness permeates them that Morgana is just beginning to understand and that she fears could overwhelm her.

ii.

When Morgause calls Morgana sister, the world slips from her mouth so easily as if she's been saying it all her life.

Perhaps she has; perhaps she's kept the knowledge and memory of Morgana hidden away, strange and precious, and has said the word to herself a thousand times over, giving it a different meaning each time. 

When Morgause calls her sister and touches her, fingertips trailing over Morgana's face down her neck to her breasts, Morgana shivers. She leans into the touch, begging for the warmth of Morgause's fingers and lips, for the security and certainty that nobody has ever offered to her. 

iii.

"The throne of Camelot will be yours," Morgause says, her blond hair falling down her back as she unpins it, "but that's not the most important thing." 

Morgana stretches her hand toward Morgause to beckon her to bed. Sunrise is still a few hours away and the candles in their bedchamber have melted into pools of wax. "Not the most important thing tonight."

"No." Morgause sits down on the edge of bed to let Morgana disarm her--boots and mail and gauntlets, all the physical trappings of power that she hardly needs to keep her safe, her magic is that strong. "Not tonight, not any night."

Once she's stripped down to her tunic and breeches, Morgause tugs Morgana down onto the bed with her and kisses her lips, just softly. Then she kisses Morgana again, this time with force and passion, her tongue sliding into Morgana's mouth and her hands sliding up to cup Morgana's breasts. Her kisses remain firm, and even become rough as she mouths along the curve of Morgana's breasts, teeth skimming over the nipples and tongue dampening the thin shift Morgana wears. 

Morgause has the body of a warrior, slim and strong, but it's her magic that Morgana feels when Morgause touches her like this. Magic, and the shape of her own name on Morgause's lips when Morgause licks inside her. She brings Morgana to climax so fast and so hard that Morgana cries out, dizzy with the rush of sudden need. 

iv. 

Sometimes she hears a kind of reverence in Morgause's voice, a wonder and disbelief that Morgana is there with her, that she is hers to call sister and to hold at night. 

Sometimes, she thinks, for Morgause, she is an unfulfilled promise or prophecy, a possibility that has not yet come to fruition: the sister she grew up without, the sorceress she's waited years to find. 

Morgana's never had a sister; she's never had anyone hold her hand quite that tight, as if they could lose her at any moment; she's never had anyone she needed to be this close to, whose blood thrummed in their veins the same way Morgana's did in hers. Someone whose meaning in her life could be summed up in one word with a thousand different meanings. 

v. 

There is one letter that Morgana had to burn lest anyone find it. The scrap that's left is charred along the edge, the paper brittle and the ink faded with heat. 

It doesn't matter that the context is missing, because there is no one context for them that Morgana needs to recall. 

_You are the most important._

* * *

**66.**

Merlin has been Arthur's manservant for nine days (not that Arthur's been counting) the day he flaps the covers back and Arthur sits up and has to casually pretend he's not entirely aroused. He's a healthy adult, a knight who gets a lot of daily physical exertion - is it so surprising that his body functions as normal? His _last_ manservant used to just stolidly ignore things like this.

His last manservant was some fifty-odd years old and married, however. _Merlin_ is Arthur's age, delicately-built but ferociously and gloriously insubordinate. A challenge. And Arthur wants him. 

Merlin stares, and clears his throat. 'Do you need help with that, sire?' he asks. His voice has dropped to a register lower than Arthur thinks he has ever heard from Merlin before. 

'No, I -' Arthur starts, but he does, he _wants_ and too late he realises that this is dangerously close to droit-de-seigneur, that Merlin is dangerously close to him, that Merlin's expression is not one of fear, that his knees are starting to tremble -

Merlin looks at Arthur measuringly for another moment and then slides like silk to his own knees. He braces his hands on Arthur's thighs and spreads them, apparently intent on Arthur's cock and not on Arthur's shocked, sudden gasp for breath. 

'Merlin -'

But Merlin resists Arthur's attempts to cover himself, leans forward, and presses a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the crown of Arthur's cock. He pulls back, licking his lips, and his tongue flickers out, testing-tasting-taking, his fingers clamp harder on Arthur's skin, so hard that there will be marks, ten points of contact Arthur could never have got from combat, ten points of pressure he will have to keep secret, and Arthur jerks hard into Merlin's space, unable to help himself.

Merlin smiles like a cat - the expression uncurls across his face - and this time his filthy kiss is open, licking, and Arthur is incapable of moving, frozen in pleasure, as Merlin kneels up taller, tall enough to slide his mouth down and around Arthur's cock. 

His hair tickles at Arthur's belly where he is clenched tight and almost-panicked. Arthur wants very very badly to fist his hands in that hair and feel as if he has some kind of control over this, but it would be a lie and Arthur refuses to lie to himself.

Merlin hums. His teeth scrape just the tiniest touch against Arthur's most sensitive places. Arthur can feel himself - see himself - pushing up against the thin-stretched skin of Merlin's cheek. 

This was not what he thought would happen when he gained a new manservant. 

Merlin strokes Arthur's thighs and hips as if he was trying to quiet a horse. Arthur feels as if he cannot be quieted. He trembles and sweats and fights not to break control of himself, even if he cannot control anything else - he will not grab, he will not force, he will not _take this_ , and so he clenches his fists in the bedsheets and moans, unable to help himself. 

Merlin pushes himself forward even further, forward and down, and his shoulders are resting against Arthur's knees, keeping them spread, and everything is hot-wet-soft-pressure, Arthur's eyes are screwed tight shut and yet something sparks like stars in the darkness, and he feels one of Merlin's hands let go of his hip, and then Merlin's shoulder starts to jerk against him, rhythmic like the hot rush of Merlin's breath against Arthur's belly-skin, like the roll of his tongue down the shaft of Arthur's cock, and Arthur realises that while he isn't taking he also isn't giving either. 

And then Merlin moans, shakes, helpless and muted by Arthur's cock, and Arthur is gone, down that dark, warm path to completion. When he rouses, Merlin is sprawled over his lap, licking his lips (catlike again) and smearing one wet hand over Arthur's thigh. 

That wet mark stays, at least in Arthur's mind, even after Merlin has regained his composure and helped Arthur dress. Even after breakfast and his father's orders and the donning of padding and armour. Even after training, riding, sparring, Arthur cannot stop thinking of Merlin. 

He deflects himself, and calls Merlin the worst manservant ever, but he knows now that Merlin can already read him better than he can read himself, and hopes that Merlin knows his lie for what it is, and tastes the praise beneath it.

* * *

**67.**

It seemed an unexceptional day when he woke. Merlin opened his eyes and stretched. Scratched at his belly. Swung his legs out of bed and dressed. 

But Gaius had a hot breakfast prepared for him when he came down from his room. Merlin smiled, confused. 

“Happy birthday, Merlin,” Gaius said, greeting him with a tight hug. Merlin laughed, squeezing back and happily tucking into a plate of eggs that tasted like they’d been fried in pork fat. He moaned at the outrageous luxury. 

“Did you steal this from Arthur?” he asked, mouth full. 

“Of course not,” Gaius said. “I had Morris do it.” 

+

When Merlin reported to Arthur’s rooms, he was further surprised to find Arthur already awake and dressed. 

“Merlin,” he said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “A little bird told me today is your birthday.”

Merlin smiled, pleased to be remembered. Then he grew suspicious. “It is,” he hedged. 

“In that case, I’d like you to have the day off,” Arthur said, with all apparent sincerity. 

“Really?” 

Arthur’s brows pinched. “Yes, really — what kind of master do you take me for?” 

“A...very kind and generous one!” Merlin grinned. 

+

Word seemed to have spread everywhere. Cook let Merlin nick a fresh roll without swinging her ladle at him. He found several baskets of wildflowers in his room along with a note from Gwen promising to sneak away for an afternoon swim. Leon gave him a small boot knife and appeared buoyed by Merlin’s delight in receiving it. 

When he and Gwen returned from the lake, Gwaine had snuck an entire barrel of ale into his room, which sat surrounded by blossoms. 

Merlin rubbed his fingers over his heart, trying to smooth the sharp, sweet feeling growing in his breast.

\+ 

By evening Merlin didn’t believe the day could get any better, and his suspicions looked likely to be confirmed when Arthur summoned him. Amused, Merlin set down his cup of ale and tucked the flower he’d been twirling behind his ear, loping his way toward the royal wing. Leave it to Arthur to forget the very gift he’d given. 

When he saw Merlin approaching, Arthur collected something from his desk before striding across the room. “Merlin!” He ushered him inside, shutting the door behind them. “You weren’t at training today,” he said, looking put out. 

“You told me I had the day off,” Merlin said.

“Yes, but training is fun.” 

Merlin lifted a brow, pressing his lips together. Arthur cuffed him about the ear. 

“Here,” he said, handing Merlin a letter. “Your mother wrote, asked me to give this to you on your birthday. She wasn’t sure it’d arrive on the correct date. Didn’t seem to trust Gaius not to give it to you the minute he received it, not sure why,” Arthur trailed off, watching Merlin gently unseal the letter and read it. 

“Seems you’re well-loved wherever you go,” Arthur said, smiling when Merlin quietly refolded the worn paper. 

Struck, Merlin looked up from his hands. 

Some quality of the firelight, some softness in Arthur’s bearing compelled him, and he wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, tucking his face into his neck. 

Arthur’s surprise was tangible. Abruptly, his stiffness gave way to a warm embrace. 

“Thank you,” Merlin said, finding it difficult to draw back, nosing along the line of Arthur’s jaw in his reluctance to separate. 

Their eyes caught. Merlin heard Arthur’s breath hitch. 

“Merlin,” he said— 

—and they were kissing, wrapping _in_ , struggling against the boundaries of their own bodies. Merlin opened his mouth, breathing out the swell of hot emotion rising within him, leaving himself vulnerable to Arthur’s advance. He bore them back, up against the wall, framing Merlin with his shoulders and his sure, firm hands at Merlin’s jaw — steadying him for the offering of his kisses. 

Arthur’s hips shifted and fit — fit up against Merlin’s, making Merlin’s hands fist in Arthur’s tunic. Merlin’s mouth went soft and surprised, back arching, Arthur’s lips skimming his cheek. 

“Merlin,” he said, combing his fingers through Merlin’s hair, tightening his hold like a point of focus, a tether. “Before you, I never marked this date—” he said, and Merlin bucked, gasping against him, drawing Arthur’s forehead to his own. 

“Now I think I’ll never forget it,” Arthur breathed, running his thumb over the ridge of Merlin’s brow. 

Merlin froze, scrabbling for purchase, riding the tide of Arthur’s hips and succumbing to the wave as it peaked.

* * *

**68.**

Merlin ached when Gwaine smiled at him. He had tumbled into their lives in the tavern and had ended up in his bed shortly after. When he checked on him one night, the handsome man had grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the small bed with him.

Merlin knew he wanted this for a long time. He had been fooling around with Will back in Ealdor, but nothing had ever happened but touching and when Merlin had come to Camelot, there was only one man he would have loved to explore further with. But the clotpole was too stuffed up to even notice that he existed. 

And then Gwaine came along and the longing was back. So Merlin didn’t mind one bit when he had kissed him and slowly stripped him out of his clothes. Gwaine’s kisses made his head spin and the gentle, determined touches made him participate eagerly. Of course it had hurt when Gwaine pushed into him, but his magic had pushed the pain aside and it was the most fantastic thing he’d ever experienced. Later, they exchanged sweet gentle kisses and Merlin didn’t get tired to run his fingers over the muscles in Gwaine’s arms and chest and run them through the wonderful long hair. He couldn’t get enough of those soft lips and the slight scratch of Gwaine’s stubble. If he moaned like a cat in heat when Gwaine took him again, it so wasn’t his fault. Gwaine just did all those wonderful things that Merlin hadn’t even imagined in his wildest dreams. 

So what if he could barely walk the next day? Or the day after that? So what if his lips were swollen and red from all the kisses? So what if he couldn’t take his neckerchief off or else anyone could have seen the marks Gwaine had left? Merlin didn’t care, even though he blushed furiously at Gaius’ raised eyebrow. 

He desperately hoped that Arthur would find a way for Gwaine to stay, despite Uther’s ban. Gwaine had to stay, he needed him to stay. He even considered leaving with him. Be free of the burden of his destiny and just wander Albion with Gwaine, carefree as they could get. 

But then they were standing in Gaius’ workshop and Gwaine said his good-bye and Merlin’s heart was breaking. He heard Gwaine talking about how he never stayed long anywhere and that he was going to Mercia. Mercia! It was dangerous there! Merlin had swallowed his tears and hugged Gwaine, certain he’d never see him again.

As he stood at the balustrade with Arthur, his heart got a bit lighter when he saw Gwaine flirting with Gwen. He knew he could never hold a man like this. So maybe it was better that he left. 

When they walked back to the courtyard and Arthur bumped shoulders with him, no matter what Arthur said about noblemen and commoners , Merlin knew that everything would be alright. And nobody could take the memory of those few wonderful days with Gwaine from him.

* * *

**69.**

The injured Druid Merlin brought into Morgana’s chambers for safety was only a few years younger than she was, but the connection she felt with him was instantaneous. It was something she’d never had with anyone else.

Most of the time, he rested, never speaking, but Morgana found that when no one else was in the room with them, they tended to just stare at each other silently, drinking in the other’s features. He had blue eyes, curly hair, and he made her feel things.

She wished she knew his name.

-

His wound was infected.

Merlin tried to treat it, but it hadn’t seemed to do any good; his fever was getting worse, and there was only so much Morgana could do. He was _dying_ , she knew, and it squeezed at her heart, painful and real. She couldn’t keep calm, even with Gwen’s presence at her side.

 _Morgana_ , came the voice.

Morgana stared at the man in surprise before turning to look at Gwen. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Gwen asked her in confusion.

“He said my name.”

“Did he? I didn’t hear anything.”

But he had. Morgana was sure of it. His voice was low, and smooth, but there wasn’t any time to think about it, not with Merlin coming in to see how he was.

“Whatever you did yesterday hasn’t worked,” Morgana said. “We have to ask Gaius for his help.”

The man would die otherwise, and Morgana _refused_ to let that happen. She breathed in relief when Merlin went to fetch the physician, and watched anxiously as Gaius treated him.

He would live.

-

The Druid was getting better every day, and not even the thought of Uther hunting for him could take away Morgana’s happiness at that fact.

“Once he’s recovered, we need to get him out of Camelot,” Merlin told her, as the man slept peacefully behind the curtains.

Everything in Morgana was _screaming_ at her to say no, but she knew it was unreasonable, and so instead she nodded. “Once he’s better, we’ll come up with something.”

Merlin nodded and left the room.

 _I don’t want to leave you_ the voice echoed through her mind, and Morgana whirled around to look at him. He was still lying in the makeshift bed, but his intense gaze didn’t waver from hers.

Morgana couldn’t suppress her desire for him any longer as she threw the curtains aside, straddling him effortlessly, placing her hands on his shoulders.

He hissed in pain and Morgana gasped. “I’m so sorry!” she said. “You’re injured, I shouldn’t...”

But the man shook his head; instead of saying anything in return, he threaded his hand through the hair at the back of her head and drew her in close, pressing a heated kiss against her lips.

Morgana immediately lost herself in the kiss, his hands stroking at her neck sensually as he nipped at her lips. She could feel his length pressing against her, and Morgana could feel herself growing wet in response.

Then his hands were on her thighs, under her dress, and Morgana’s breathing quickened, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes,” she gasped out between kisses, and then her dress was being hitched up and he was entering her.

The feeling was almost overwhelming, but it was still incredible as he thrust shallowly into her, his cock rubbing against her clit. She leaned down to kiss him deeply, grinding her hips and rocking to meet him thrust for thrust.

His hand came around her waist, holding her firmly as she rested her own hands against his chest, stroking lightly at the tattoo that marked him. She clenched down tightly around him and shuddered at the feeling as he groaned in pleasure, and then he was spilling her seed into her.

Morgana moaned at the feeling, throwing her head back as her own climax hit its peak before she fell against him, her heart racing.

 _You’re beautiful_ , he told her, and Morgana flushed, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, sincere.

-

That night, after he fell asleep, Morgana sobbed silently into her pillow, knowing that he had to leave, and also knowing that even though it would destroy her, she could not go with him.

* * *

**70.**

Gwen tells him herself.

The weight of her own grief is heavy, but she pushes it aside to do her duty. 

Leon's eyes are wide and his emotion, though tightly restrained, is clear to her. He doesn't say a word, though, merely drops to one knee before her.

“Your Majesty,” he says, voice low but steady.

She offers him her hand and he kisses the ring that now sits permanently on her finger.

There's a moment, when he stands - he catches her hand for the briefest moment and squeezes it. And in that moment she wants to break down, wants to let herself cry and scream and let him comfort her. 

“Come,” she says instead. “There is much we need to discuss.”

***

What she feels for him is different to what she felt for Arthur but, she thinks, no less real. It's quieter and steadier – with no overbearing, expectant father or the weight of a whole kingdom on his shoulders – she feels calmer in it, more secure.

She sees him looking sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, feels him stiffen slightly when their hands brush against each others in the everyday course of things. 

Gwen knows he would do anything for her – he's proved himself time and time again in the last year, he's been an unshakeable constant since Arthur's death. His devotion to her is as unwavering as it was to him.

But she doesn't want this for the kingdom. 

Gwen wants him for herself.

*

“Your Majesty, I - ”

“Gwen,” she tells him. She stands back from the door and gestures for him to enter. “When it's just us, please, Leon. I'm still – just Gwen.”

She's wanted to tell him that before, but some part of her was waiting for him to do it on his own.

“Gwen,” he says, smiling. 

She doesn't mean to, she hadn't planned to, but Gwen kisses him. She's tired of waiting. 

He hesitates for a moment before kissing her back and _oh_ , it's so good, it's better than she'd imagined. His beard is rough against her cheeks and his hands are unbelievably gentle on her waist. 

“This isn't – you don't have to - ” she stutters against his lips when she pulls back. She needs him to know that this isn't another service required of him by his queen. 

He touches her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lips. “And if I want to?” he asks, no slyness in his voice.

She kisses him again.

*

He's strong. Gwen knew that, but it's one thing to see it in training, to sense it underneath his chainmail; it's another when he picks her up effortlessly and carries her to her bed, kissing her deeply the entire time.

And for all that his hands are remarkably deft as he undresses her, and then his mouth warm on her neck as he slides his hand between her legs. 

It's been too long since she's had anything but her own fingers, and Gwen doesn't bother to bite back the moan as he touches her, sliding down the bed to kiss her breasts, and then her stomach, moving until he's kneeling between her legs, his beard tickling her inner thighs.

“Gwen, can I - ”

“Yes,” she gasps, not waiting to hear the end of the question. He laughs softly, and then leans in and kisses her cunt, licking into her with deft, broad strokes. 

It takes her barely any time before she's shuddering and crying out, fingers tangled in his hair, and he eases off. When he crawls back up the bed to kiss her, she can feel him hard against her thigh, and she takes him in hand, stroking him until he's gasping, mouth slack against hers.

*

“Stay,” she tells him afterward. “I mean, you don't have to, I'm not ordering you to, I just want - ”

He kisses her in reply, thankfully, putting an end to her bumbling. It's been a long, long time since she felt like that earnest, awkward girl, but somehow, now, she does. It's a strange sort of relief, to know she hasn't lost all the parts of who she was

“As long as you want me to.”


	8. Group D (no warnings)

**71.**

Missing scene from "A Servant of Two Masters"

* * *

**72.**

Merlin wanted so badly to tell Arthur how much he meant to him, after their last battle, but he couldn't find the words. So on a beautiful night he took him out onto the horizon, covered his eyes and whispered into his ear... "Make a wish on a shooting star.Maybe it'll come true"  
When the prince opened his eyes Camelot herself and the skies were ablaze in magic, and drawn in the stars, was Merlin's love for Arthur.

* * *

**73.**

* * *

**74.**

**I Thought We'd Lost You, Merlin**

* * *

**75.**

**Description:**  
4x06 alternate event : Arthur finds Merlin in Morgana's hideout still tied up. He's so happy he gives him a handjob. Also the ropes are a turn-on so he left them on during the whole thing.

* * *

**76.**

**Summary:**  
He dressed Merlin up as knight for bandit bait, but Arthur just can't help himself.

* * *

**77.**

I bet we all know what happened after 4x10 A Herald of the New Age.

* * *

**78.**

To Forgive a Friend  
"You don't know how much I regret everything I've done. I just... hope that you can forgive me."

* * *

**79.**

Canon AU where Freya learns how to control her shapeshifting.

* * *

**80.**

There is nothing more canon than sex on the round table... in a crown


End file.
